


Here I Go Again...

by malu (orphan_account)



Category: Football RPF, Formula 1 RPF, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 31,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Not real! Just playing! </b><br/>Sorry to those I've hurt.<br/>And yup, this is a mistake (definitely... big mistake) and I know it, but once I'd opened Pandora's box there was no way out I guess.<br/>Also, sorry for waking wrong expectations with that first chapter... I should have mentioned upfront that this will be a collection of one-shots that aren't connected at all, not a longer story.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Atonement - Marc/Jorge [E]

**Author's Note:**

> **Not real! Just playing!**  
>  Sorry to those I've hurt.  
> And yup, this is a mistake (definitely... big mistake) and I know it, but once I'd opened Pandora's box there was no way out I guess.  
> Also, sorry for waking wrong expectations with that first chapter... I should have mentioned upfront that this will be a collection of one-shots that aren't connected at all, not a longer story.

Jorge pretty much expected the banging at his door. Expected and dreaded. Because really, he’s not up to this. Not again, not tonight, or better, not ever. But he also knows that it won’t stop. He’ll at least have to open and send _him_ away. Though… that’s exactly the problem, right? Sending him away when he’s standing there, in all his glory, 22 years of complete and utter perfection. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there.”

Jorge crosses the room, hands running through his hair helplessly. _Go away, just go away. Let’s not do this. Please._

He opens the door and of course it’s him, hands fidgeting nervously, lip bitten, cheeks with a slight flush. He’s evading Jorge’s gaze and he doesn’t speak. It makes Jorge unreasonably angry. _It’s you coming to me for this. You could at least man up enough to ask for it._

But when they’re standing there, close enough for Jorge to smell _his_ familiar aftershave, all thoughts of stopping this, all thoughts of sending him away like a reasonably adult would are gone. There’s a hot, urgent need spreading through Jorge’s body and crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively isn’t enough of a barrier. 

So, when Marc bites his lip again and nervously starts to stutter, Jorge just pulls him inside, smashes the door closed and backs him against the wall, hands in the collar of the white Repsol-Polo. 

“Why are you here?”

He hisses the words right into Marc’s ear and presses his body flush against the younger rider’s and oh yes, he knows he’s going straight to hell for this and he _knows_ he will regret it so badly, but it’s Marc. MARC. Greek God turned real. Smooth, tan skin, hundreds and hundreds of square inches of it, mocha eyes that dilate most beautifully black right now. 

“You know why.” 

Marc all but stammers and he’s still not looking at him. It makes Jorge angry, so he takes hold of Marc’s chin and forces him to look up, to meet his eyes. _Big, big mistake, Jorge, big mistake._ Because this means he’s looking into Marc’s eyes now, too. And the fragility, the pain, it breaks his heart instantly. Jorge gulps.

“Tell me.”

He has to be hard on him. He has to be the one who gives him what he needs. Again. And it almost seemed as if they wouldn’t have to do this anymore. As if the sweet torture would finally seize. But then, after the race, during that press conference, Jorge knew. He knew how Marc felt, how he’d break down afterwards and yeah, Jorge knew he’d come here for relief. Even if today, Jorge wasn’t involved in the mistake, just Vale. But Marc would always come here. Obviously. Because there’s one thing even the great Vale can’t give to Marc.

“Please, Jorge. I need you.”

And there’s something so broken in that voice, if his good intentions wouldn’t have been out of the window already, this voice would have done the job of shattering his resolve just fine. For a moment, Jorge squeezes his eyes shut, takes a last deep breath before he crosses the line, before it’s a one-way street. _Forgive me. Please forgive me._

“Strip and get on your knees,” he says, harshly, willing his voice to stay cold. 

He takes a step back and watches, licking his lips absentmindedly. Every time he undresses for him, it takes Jorge by surprise just how beautiful the younger rider is. Every single time. And his jeans are awfully tight by the time Marc is kneeling there, naked, eyes on the floor and hands behind his back. He’s hard, too. It makes Jorge strangely proud to see that.

“Open up, like a good slut does.” 

Jorge cringes at his own words, still, even when they’ve done this countless times, even when he knows it’s what Marc needs. The younger just does as he’s told, gaze lowered to the floor obediently. Possibly, Jorge could come just from looking at the sight in front of him now, naked MotoGP champion with his full lips open and waiting, basically begging for his cock. He bites his cheek, hard, to prevent this from ending before they even started. 

If his fingers tremble while he unzips his jeans, that has nothing to do with nervousness at all.

Jorge grabs Marc’s hair roughly and Marc’s eyes fly up for a moment, their gazes meeting briefly. Jorge’s breath catches in his throat. Then, the younger looks back down and Jorge decides that he’s not strong enough to deal with this, not at all. Still, he does what’s expected, starts fucking Marc’s mouth rough. It’s raw and violent and no, he doesn’t miss the tears springing from the corners of Marc’s eyes. Nor does he miss how the other gags or how his face reddens from lack of air. But, Jorge reminds himself, it’s what Marc wants, what Marc needs, a fact established between them for a while now. 

He remembers the first time it happened, remembers Jerez 2013 and the little heap of misery at his door, begging for something to do to make it up to him. And it had been meant as sarcastic joke, the cold “Blow me” Jorge had thrown at him – but Marc had done so without a second thought and after an initial second of absolute terror, it had been the best thing Jorge has felt in his life. And they’d established a pattern there, one that quickly developed into an outlet for Marc after every mistake he made. Or thought he made. Because one thing Jorge learned over time; Marc doubts himself a lot. More than he’d have to, more than he should. But he won’t listen to Jorge when the older rider tells him it’s okay, won’t listen to the compliments on his riding, his achievements. Apparently, only punishment makes him settle, lets him sleep peacefully again. 

Jorge groans as he feels his orgasm approach sooner than he wants it but well, it’s been a while and holding back is no longer an option, so he pushes forward hard once more, grips Marc’s hair a bit tighter and comes with a relieved moan.

He sinks to the floor, legs giving in and he moves his hands to rest on Marc’s shoulders. It takes him a moment to come back down, to regain full consciousness and to blink his eyes open. Marc’s looking at him, mouth closed now but his face still flushed and glistening with sweat. Marc’s eyes scare him, because the way he’s looking at him, completely vulnerable, open, questioning everything, there’s a lot of responsibility when someone looks up to you like that. 

“You did well, that was so good, so good,” he whispers, holding his arms open.

He sighs with relief when Marc throws himself around his neck, clinging to his shirt. Because Jorge is always glad when this is enough – and sometimes, it’s not. Sometimes, Marc has asked him for a spanking, has asked him to be fucked raw. And it’s not that it’s not hot… but it’s also heartbreaking, because truth is, in nine of ten cases where Marc begs for some absolution from his mistakes, Jorge is convinced the other hasn’t even done anything wrong.

Following the pattern they’ve both memorized so well, he takes Marc to bed, undresses himself, cuddles up next to the younger man after allowing himself that one moment to marvel the perfection splayed on his white sheets. He nuzzles his head into the nape of Marc’s neck and kisses and licks the tender skin.

“You’re okay, Marc. Everything’s okay. You did well, babe.” He mumbles endearments between the ministrations and feels the other still too tense, still shivering too much.

“I didn’t want to crash, Jorge. I didn’t want to let them down again. I should have just taken that second place.”

_God, i know. Of course you didn't. Of course not._

“Sh, it’s okay.”

Jorge’s fingers slide down a perfectly sculpted torso and finding Marc’s cock, still rock-hard and leaking. He strokes him gently, slowly and he’s knows it must be agonizing because it’s been so long, but all that falls from Marc’s lips is a small hum. 

He finishes Marc with careful strokes, not exactly teasing but not making it easy on the other either and during all of it, he watches Marc, not wanting to miss out on the beauty of seeing the guards come down finally. His free hand traces patterns on Marc’s forehead while the needy whimpers tell him that it won’t be long anymore. 

When Marc comes, it’s with Jorge’s name on his lips and Jorge almost chokes, emotions crashing down badly.

He gives Marc a moment, waits for his breathing to steady, before he picks up a towel from the bathroom and cleans him. 

“Thank you,” Marc whispers, barely loud enough for him to hear.

_There’s nothing to thank me for._

Jorge climbs onto the mattress wordlessly and covers them with a sheet, wrapping himself around Marc’s body. He only wants to make it better, but he knows it’s only going to last until the next downfall. Marc drifts away in his arms, Jorge can tell just from the way his breath evens out. And Jorge knows he’ll wake up alone the next morning and he knows it will hurt. Again. Because it always does. But he had what he wants most in this world, even if only for a night. And yeah, he should be the grown up, should be the one to end this unhealthy vicious circle that isn’t getting either of them anywhere, but who can blame him for not wanting to give this up?

It will be a long time before he finds sleep, a long time of looking at Marc and feeling himself yearn and long for more, for a relationship he can never have, that is not only not allowed to happen but that he is sure Marc is not considering. He's fallen so deep, so hard for the young man, it's scary. And wrong. And so, so bad for both of them.

_But I love you._

_When you're on the outside baby and you can't get in_  
_I will show you you're so much better than you know_  
_When you're lost and you're alone and you can't get back again_  
_I will find you darling and I will bring you home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from _By Your Side_ ; Sade


	2. Bottleneck - Nico/Nico [M]

Nico doesn’t like these parties, but he goes. Always. Because if he doesn’t, he can count on them calling him arrogant again. Even if that’s as far from the truth as it could be. The real reason, his true aversion, that’s just that deep down under his shell, beneath the well-studied smile, he is insecure. He feels out of place, because that’s what he’s heard he is, for all these years. Only there because of his daddy, always handed everything with silver spoons. That’s what they think and sometimes, Nico believes them. When he was younger, he’d cry himself to sleep because he felt he lacked the other’s talent. And that hasn’t changed much over the years. After all, he couldn’t beat Lewis in the same car last year. That’s enough proof of his inferiority.

Suppressing a sigh, he runs his hands through his hair and cringes. Truth or dare. Of all things possible, a round of truth and dare. Such a childish, stupid game and no, Nico hasn’t had enough alcohol tonight to deal with it. His eyes wander over the crowd, the usual guys like Seb, Dan and Lewis cheery and giddy and rummaging for a suitable bottle already. Kimi is leaning back on the couch, lips twitching in a small smile. And then his gaze falls onto the other Nico, who is a rare guest on evenings like this, and he gulps. Because damned, that guy is beautiful. It’s nothing he just noticed, it’s a notion he’s had for years now. Nico Hülkenberg looks stunning. He notices him staring and suddenly Nico finds his eyes meeting the Force India driver’s. There’s something strange hanging between them, he thinks for a split-second, but then Dan squeals as he declares he found the perfect bottle and the moment is gone.

Nico sighs and grabs another bottle of beer, desperate to reach a state where he can deal with all of this. He glares at the bottle Dan picked, which used to hold some overrated, overpriced thirty year old Whiskey that Nico would rather have spit out than drunk. He watches it spin, the movement making him dizzy. And he watches the game, sees Kimi strip and take a picture for Maurizio, hears Seb sing “Without you” onto Christian’s mailbox, hears Lewis confess about the time he wore Nicole’s heels. He’s just gone back to drinking, shots of Tequila this time around, making him fuzzy inside, when he realizes they’re all staring at him. And fuck, the bottleneck is pointing at him. Straight at him. Traitorous thing, he thinks, glaring at the bottle again.

“Dare,” he grits out, because seriously, he won’t be giving away anything here. Not to them. 

Then he realizes that it’s Lewis turn to come up with a task and his throat feels very tight. There’s an evil sparkle in his teammates eyes, one Nico has seen too many times and that he knows means nothing good for him.

“I dare you to kiss Hulk.”

The crowd breaks into cheers, but for Nico the world stops turning for a moment. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

He feels his face heat up impossibly. After a moment, he lifts his head, eyes meeting the other Nico’s again and shit again, because he still looks impossibly gorgeous. And now he’s biting his lips, making him seem younger, shy and it almost makes Nico groan.

“Come on guys, don’t be chickens. Not like it’ll make you gay or anything.” 

Seb. Of course Seb would say something like that. As if Nico would have to be made gay.

He tries to give younger Nico his most apologetic smile, as he somehow feels like this is all his fault. It’s his obnoxious teammate’s request after all. But the younger just shrugs and stands up, holding up a hand to pull him along. 

Nico follows, hesitantly at best. But yeah, he’d only be the arrogant freak if he’d refuse. He steps closer to the other Nico and it feels strange, looking up before a kiss. And his hands… what the hell is he supposed to do with his hands? And anyway?

“Guys, seriously, go!”

Kimi sounds slightly annoyed, but then, who is the Finn to complain here? Nico would trade this with taking a nude selfie for Toto anytime.

He’s shaken out of his daydream when he feels the younger driver’s hands in his neck. The touch sends an unexpected shiver down his spine. _Damned. Stop being so gorgeous._

He leans up, eyes captivated by the hint of stubble on Nico’s cheeks. He runs a tentative finger over it and only distantly hears the wolf whistling around them, because for a moment, it’s just the two of them. The younger gives him a brief nod and that’s all the warning he gets before the other leans down and presses their lips together. 

Nico Hülkenberg tastes like Tequila and chapstick, that’s his lesson for the night. That and the fact that he, Nico Rosberg, apparently has a thing for the taste of Tequila and chapstick, because when they’ve done the deed and stand there, still facing each other, younger Nico smiling at him shyly and with an adorable flush, his jeans are tight. Tighter than they should be. And after a confused second of panic, he quickly settles back down on the couch, tries to rearrange his pants as discreetly as possible.

“Your turn, princess,” Dan says with a broad smile, elbow slamming into Nico’s ribs.

_My turn. Right._

He flees at the first possible occasion, evading Nico’s surprised gaze when he hurries off and in his hotel room, he heads straight for the shower. The water running over his body doesn’t do anything to cool him down though, on the contrary, if anything, his cock gets harder by the second.

Which might be due to the fact that for some inexplicable reason, he keeps seeing Nico Hülkenberg’s face in front of his closed eyes. And maybe he could deal with it if it was just the face. But he also imagines Nico’s body, under the shower here with him, rivulets making their way down the toned chest that he’s caught glimpses of before and that he’d die to touch right now.

Instead, his fingers wrap around his own cock, jerking himself off furiously until he comes with a growl, forehead dropping against the cold tiles in resignation.

Sleep is restless this night, because his dreams are vivid. Forbidden. Uncalled for. And great, Lewis managed to screw him up massively. Not for the first he wonders whether the Brit _knows_. Or rather how he found out about Nico's secret.

When he wakes up the next morning, feeling hungover and sick, the memories return quickly and make him sit bolt upright. Shaky fingers reach up, tracing his own lips in wonder, still feeling a ghost of _that_ kiss.

He slides his sunglasses down on the way to the lobby, eyes skimming over a display of tabloids. **Rosberg talks about joys of fatherhood.** The headline almost makes him throw up. _Right, there’s a reason why I can’t have you._

 _Only love can hurt like this_  
_Must have been a deadly kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from _Only Love Can Hurt Like This_ , Paloma Faith (highly recommended...)


	3. Captives - Marc/Fernando [M]

The moment they realize that it’s an ambush, it’s too late. With the noise of shots around them, Fernando sees first Iker and then David go down. And in all the chaos, between explosions, shouting and the never-ending droning of the helicopters above them, even with his pulse running havoc and his own life on the line, all he does is scan the area for Sergio. His Sergio. Only his. Fernando doesn’t care what happens to himself, doesn’t give a fuck about his life – because when he’s honest, that’s a lost cause anyway. But Sergio… friendly, compassionate, tender Sergio. Beautiful Sergio. No, they can’t have him.

_***_

They made captives. Marc sighs and looks over to the two men, sitting on the concrete floor with blindfolds and their hands tied to their back. He sees Vale kick one of them in passing, apparently just for fun. And he hates himself, hates his life, hates what this war has made out of them. And captives, resistance fighters caught alive, that much Marc knew, meant there was a nasty evening ahead of them.

_***_

They remove his blindfold and Fernando has no words for the relief he feels when he sees Sergio, kneeling across from him. Their eyes lock immediately and he can read the same affection that he feels for the Sevillan in the younger man’s eyes. Maybe there’d be a way. And escape. A last straw. Fernando bites his lip and tries to give Sergio a small smile.

But relief and hope are short-lived when he sees them pick Sergio up by his arms, tying his hands to shackles hanging from the ceiling, ripping his shirt away. Fernando growls now, his hands fighting in their restraints. He sees Sergio look down at him, shaking his head ever so slightly. He stops when he sees the seriousness in Sergio’s eyes, the unspoken warning. 

”Talk, where’s the rest of your group?” One of them barks, hitting Sergio’s back with a whip to accentuate his demand.

Fernando struggles not to scream, not to cry. But if Sergio can take it like this, his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut, no sound coming from his lips, then Fernando can do that, too. He has to. But seeing his lover whipped and humiliated and degraded, it’s terrifying and when he thinks it can’t get worse, they just shoot him. 

Fernando vomits on the floor in front of them, making them laugh.

”Now that you’ve seen what happens when you don’t talk, maybe you’ll make a better choice.”

It’s the shortest of them who barks the words, before he walks out without even looking at Fernando. The others haul him to his feet, tie him up the way they’d done with Sergio. They leave dragging his Sese’s lifeless body along, right through the dirt and it makes Fernando sick again.

There are tears on his cheeks and maybe that’s not appropriate for a soldier in captivity but he couldn’t care less. And Fernando knows one thing, he won’t talk. Because now that Sergio is dead, Fernando isn’t afraid to die anymore.

***

Marc, as usual during these so-called interrogations, tries to press himself back against the wall. Hell, he’d press himself through the wall if that were possible, in his desperate quest to be invisible. They torture and the mere thought makes him want to throw up. They’re honorable soldiers, in uniforms of the nation whose freedom they’re defending and they’re torturing their prisoners. Marc has never despised himself the way he does now.

It’s always hard to watch, but somehow, this time it’s even harder. Because he’d seen the way the blond had cried when he saw his compatriot die and Marc had read something in his eyes that he doubts the others had seen. And now that they’re whipping him, sounds hurting Marc’s ears, he cannot stop staring, cannot keep his eyes away like he’d usually do. Because he’s gorgeous, Marc thinks, with the golden strands of hair framing his face, with the freckles covering his skin everywhere, with eyes that seem too soft, too affectionate for the monsters they want to make Marc belief these resistance fighters are. And he’s well-trained, firm muscles flexing in his arms and under the golden skin of his broad chest.

Marc’s fist clench in the pockets of his cargos as he hears another nasty smack of the whip and he sees the slight sheen of sweat that’s now covering the other’s body, making his skin glow. He looks so young, so innocent, Marc thinks and all he wants to do is walk over there and run his hands through the blond hair.

***

They don’t kill him. Not yet. Though Fernando would have appreciated if they had. Instead, he’s left hanging here, his hands numb above his head, his body a single source of pain. Only the supposedly youngest of them had to stay with him. At least Fernando thinks he’s youngest. He looks shocked and scared and not one bit like he wants to be here. And he shouldn’t, Fernando thinks, he should be at some university, throwing parties, hooking up with pretty girls.

Fernando had seen the way the dark haired boy? Man? Had looked at him and yeah, he’d seen an interest there that under other circumstances would have been more than a little flattering. Because although the uniform hides most of the other’s body, he sure has a beautiful face. High cheekbones, pitch black eyes, full lips. And a sadness in his look that makes Fernando weak in the knees.

When the younger, who previously had been standing at the door nervously, suddenly puts down his gun and walks up to him, Fernando holds his breath. The soldier stops right in front of him, not looking into his eyes. Tentative fingers reach out and run down Fernando’s chest, a touch so surprisingly tender that it makes his eyelids flutter close.

”You’re beautiful,” the boy mutters and Fernando adores the way he blushes.

”Do you have a last wish?”

***

Marc couldn’t tell where he’d taken the courage from to do this and he’s a little shocked about himself, standing there, caressing the cheek of a captive, other hand finally touching the blond streaks, gently pushing them behind the other’s ears.

”A kiss would be nice.”

Marc gulps and his eyes fly up, screening the other’s, searching for a hint whether it’s a joke, a threat… or possible an honest to God answer? The brown eyes looking back at him seem genuine. Genuine and a little nervous.

And because the face in front of him is one he never wants to forget, because this opportunity won’t ever come up again, because he’s desperate and drunk with sadness, Marc cups the other’s cheeks, feeling the hint of stubble. He leans up, letting their mouths meet and he’s surprised how soft his lips are. Soft and apparently willing, as they part quickly, inviting his tongue in.

There’s the softest moan, released into their kiss and Marc presses closer, his body trembling against the other man’s naked chest, his fingers clenched in the blond hair. Oh yes, he’s kissed before, men and women. And beautiful ones they were for sure. But nothing has ever compared to _this_ , to the gentleness and despair that’s lingering in this kiss. It’s such an irony, how the most beautiful, most passionate moment of his life, will forever be connected to an ugly basement with a dirty concrete floor, smelling like sweat and sewage.

It’s a rumbling outside the door that makes them break apart, makes Marc jump away, quick to grab his gun and straighten his uniform, hoping his flush won’t give anything away. And before the door opens, their gazes lock a final time and the blond gives him a shy smile that makes Marc shiver from head to toe.

”Thank you,” the older whispers, just before the door flies open and their time is up.

_No. Thank **you**._

_Grant my last request_  
_just let me hold you_


	4. Dessert - Vale/Nico, [T]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I saw THAT picture.

“Hey, I brought dessert, could you go and get a-... wait, wait! You can’t post that!”

”Why not?”

Vale smiles and holds the phone up, his advantage in height barring Nico from reaching the device.

”Vale, stop kidding, you can’t!”

The German pouts and Vale finds it irresistible.

”Sorry, babe, too late.”

He presses the send button and then leans down to kiss Nico’s forehead, the driver staring at him in absolute terror.

”Tell me you didn’t!”

”Sorry, the damage is done.”

Vale grins, trying for evil, while he hugs the other close. Nico fights the embrace though, taking a step back and glaring at him.

”Are you out of your mind?”

”Why? What’s the problem with the picture?”

”Vale,” the German sighs exasperatedly and the Italian prepares for the inevitable lecture, “Vale, it’s a picture of us, arm in arm, with dinner. People will get suspicious.”

”Why would people be suspicious? We’re only having dinner! Nobody is going to lose a word about it!”

”And for what reason would an F1 driver and a MotoGP rider share a tray dinner? And end up in each other’s arms? Looking at each other like their partner hung the moon for them? Tell me Vale, why?”

”Because they’re friends?”

”Seriously? You can’t be serious about this, right? God, Vale, you practically outed us with that. Everybody is going to know. They’ll all find out that we’re fucking, they-“ Nico stops cold, panting slightly and Vale loves the way his cheeks flush when he gets all emotional.

”Would that really be so bad?”

He asks calmly, measured, trying not give away just how much the answer means to him. And Nico starts to talk, but no words come out and he just stands there, arms in midair and stares at Vale, who gets lost in his blue eyes immediately.

It takes forever before Nico finally manages to press out a response. And by the time, Vale’s heart is racing the GP of its life.

”You really mean that?”

The anger is drained from Nico’s voice. He just sounds incredulous and Vale feels a flicker of hope, a glimmer of a chance for him and his plans and he nods, slowly, his lips twitching into a small smile.

”You mean… you wouldn’t mind if everybody knew? If they’d know you’re… we’re… gay?”

Still, no anger, only surprise.

”Not at all. I want them to know that you’re mine. And that I’m yours. I don’t care what people will think.”

The moment he waits for Nico’s response is the longest in his entire life, that much is for sure and Vale just wants to shake him to get some answer, some reaction out of him. But then the German simply throws himself into his arms, clinging to him as for dear life and kissing him with full force. And to say that rocks are falling from Vale’s chest is the understatement of the year.

”I just… God, I can’t believe you said that. I just want to fuck you senseless,” Nico is growling into his ear and Vale almost whines with lust.

”Go for it… I wouldn’t mind that.”

He rubs against Nico, trying to show him just how little he would mind.

”I will, don’t worry, I will, but first… first we’ll post a real selfie. And then, you’ll be my dessert.”

Fifteen minutes later, Vale is a panting, writhing mess, tangled in Nico’s sheets. And a picture of a slightly disheveled F1 driver kissing the MotoGP legend’s in an absolutely not friendly or casual way is trending on twitter worldwide.


	5. Enchanted - Sami/Mesut [M or maybe E if you squint?]

„So good“, Mesut mumbles, head buried in the pillow and Sami just smiles fondly. His eyes rest on the firm back splayed out beneath him and his fingers knead the tense muscles. He knows exactly how Mesut likes this, gentle and slow. The occasional content moan, muffled by the cushions, confirms that he’s doing his job well. And it’s an absolute pleasure, looking at Mesut’s body like this, having the chance to explore and discover without giving away too much. As long as he stays up on his knees and his rock-hard dick doesn’t come in contact with Mesut anyway.

Sami doesn’t remember when they started this little ritual. At some point that feels like years ago, they started rooming together during away games. And during national duty. And one night, when they’d been restless, both in their respective bed – it had been a double, he remembers that fact, even if he couldn’t remember the place it was at if his life depended on it – at some point that night, Mesut had startled him with a surprising question.

_”Sami?”_

_”Hm?”_

_”Have you ever had sex in a shower?”_

Sami remembers being grateful for the room to be dark, because he’d blushed like a schoolboy. And he’d spluttered. But then, for whatever reason, probably because Mesut had sounded absolutely genuine about the question, he’d replied and told him that yes, he’d had sex in a shower. Mesut had inquired about techniques, possibilities, and Sami had, with much more blushing and stammering, tried to explain. Though in the end, they’d both come to the conclusion that maybe the difficulties Mesut had experienced with this came from the fact that Mesut was a bit short. Eventually, Mesut had thanked him, genuinely again. And then, the younger had turned around and fallen asleep. Sami had been left with a raging hard on and eventually, once he’d been sure Mesut was far gone, had snuck back into the bathroom and jerked off thinking about his teammate under the shower. 

It had been terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. Sami woke up the next morning, feeling horrified. He’d come while he thought about Mesut. His best friend. Teammate. Roommate. In the shower, gloriously naked, with water running down a toned chest and a six-pack sent from heaven. Sami found that wrong, so, so wrong and he just wanted to erase it from his mind. Because it wasn’t allowed to happen again. Not ever.

And then Mesut had woken up and looked at him, still sleepy and ruffled and there’d been that distinct flutter in his stomach and Sami had known he was in trouble. Sami has never looked at Mesut the same way after the incident. Ever since, he’s been enchanted with the younger player, mind absolutely blown. What a revelation, at the age of twenty four, to be crushing on a teammate.

Over the following months, they’d had lots of these little sex talks, usually starting with a question on Mesut’s side, followed by explanations by Sami, who over time managed to stop stammering, but never stopped to blush from head to toe. Also, he usually was hard after and then ended up masturbating in secrecy in their bathroom, Mesut’s name on his lips and images of the beautiful young man on his mind. And Sami couldn’t stop looking at Mesut anymore, not during or training and, to his absolute horror, not under the shower. Mesut’s body was sculpted perfectly, his skin was tanned and looked soft and God, Sami wanted to reach out and touch it all over all the time. Sometimes, he had to bite his tongue to discipline himself. And the hair, the longish black strands that were begging him to run his fingers through them. Sometimes, during their talks, Sami would press his face into the pillow briefly to suppress a moan.

He scared himself a lot. Because Mesut was a man and Sami hadn’t done that before. Not that he had a problem with homosexuality, it just never occurred to him he could swing this way. And he had a girlfriend. Still kind of fresh, but definitely supposed to be exclusive. And sometimes, when he was lying there, sharing these intimate fantasies and real events with Mesut, in his head imagining acting them out with Mesut, he felt as if he was cheating on her. Which wasn’t like him. Not at all. But then he’d stand somewhere on the pitch and Mesut would run up to him, laughing, with these gorgeous dimples, and hug him and Sami would feel himself falling just a little bit deeper.

And then, making matters worse and showing a rather masochistic streak on Sami’s side, the massages had begun, when Mesut, tired, worn out and injured, had asked him for that favor. Sami knew he was in trouble and still he didn’t have it in him to say no. And that was that. And now, here he is, biting his lip in order not to groan and keeping his body up so Mesut won’t notice that the look of his teammate’s back makes him desperate with lust. And it’s not that Mesut had never offered to return the favor, but Sami had been smart enough to stop that from happening. Because he’s sure that he’d come all over the mattress the second Mesut would touch him in this state.

”A bit further down? Please, Sami.”

_God, that whine._

Sami inhales sharply and follows the request. He wills his cock to behave, but as usual with Mesut writhing under him, it’s a lost cause and when he hears Mesut sigh into the pillow again, Sami suddenly and to his own absolute shock, releases a very audible and very unmistakable groan.

”Sami?”

Mesut’s voice jerks up, sounding alarmed and Sami jumps, turning his back to the bed and running his hands over his face. 

_Shit._

”Sorry, Mesut. God, I’m so sorry, I should… I don’t… it’s just…”

”Sami, stop.”

Mesut’s voice sounds sharp and Sami gulps. So he ruined it. Everything. Best friendship he ever had on the field. He should call his manager, tell him he needs to transfer. And he needs the ground to open. Now. Because seriously, if his cheeks get any hotter, they’ll probably be in flames.

”Listen, Mesut, I never…-“ _Shit, what do you even say in such a moment?_ “I’ll just leave, okay?”

”Sami, stop.”

Mesut repeats the sentence, but more gentle this time. Sami hadn’t heard him get up, but the hand on his shoulder is clear proof. Mesut’s hand. On his shoulder. The touch burns all the way through the fabric of Sami’s shirt and he is totally out of his mind, lust raging inside him against his best intentions.

”Sami, I had no idea.”

The younger sounds surprised, but also very soft – and actually, hopeful? Sami’s heart is racing in his chest now and he wishes he was capable of thinking straight, because figuring this out is important.

”God, why didn’t you say anything?” Mesut whispers and it sounds like he’s completely amazed. And then, Mesut presses against his back, wraps his hands around Sami’s waist and _Fuck_ , that is one obvious feeling against his back. Sami feels his entire body shaking, his head a lost cause and the realization, the implication of Mesut, also hard as fuck and wrapped around him, sinking in slowly.

”I-… I can’t believe,” Sami swallows and the stammering is back, but he manages to turn around. And wow, Mesut’s eyes are black, pupils blown and his lips are parted and well, that is an invitation, Sami thinks.

It’s his last coherent thought for the night as his lips crash against his teammate's and they both stumble towards the shower, clothes lost on the way. If he could still think, he’d wonder whether this had always been on Mesut’s mind, whether the very first question had already been a plot that the younger had spun to get Sami right here, on his knees in a hotel shower with his mouth around another man’s cock. But even if that was the case, Sami wouldn’t mind one bit.

 _I've been trying to be where you are_  
_And I've been secretly falling apart_  
_Unseen_  
_To me, you're strange and you're beautiful_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: _Strange and beautiful_ , Aqualung
> 
> How I see them (because Mesut's hair has never looked as good as then...): http://www.spox.com/de/sport/fussball/dfb-team/1103/News/deutsche-nationalmannschaft-gegen-australien-ohne-mesut-oezil-und-sami-khedira.html


	6. Floating - Alex/Alex [M]

The touch against his chest is feathery, barely there, but making him shiver even in his half-asleep and fuzzy state of mind. It takes a moment for realization to hit him, for his brain to catch up with last night’s events and to remember where he is. And waking up _here_ , after all this time they’d spend apart, it’s comforting and bittersweet at the same time. Alex blinks his eyes open, meeting his former teammates gaze on him.

”Hey, sleeping beauty awakes.” Rins smiles him and it’s nothing but fondly and Alex’s heart does this little flip again. 

”You’re here,” he mumbles, his finger reaching out to trace the other’s jaw, morning stubble scratchy under his fingertips. He has to touch, has to convince himself that _he_ is really there, only a few inches away from Alex’s face.

”Well… this is my place after all, so yeah, I’m here.”

Alex could lose himself in Rins’ face in these moments, in that smile that’s always so affectionate, so caring. That never fails to show him that he’s enough and that finally, for once, something is about him, only him and not about his older brother. And he feels like floating when they’re together, like time and space don’t exist anymore. And he wants to tell Rins just that, wants to tell him how much he loves this, loves them, loves him. But the words, as often as he thinks them, somehow never make it out.

”I missed you,” he whispers instead, face nuzzling into the crook of the older rider’s neck, hand wandering down the other’s chest, finding him hard. He makes him moan when his fingers wrap around his cock and yes, he revels in the noises he can rip from him as his hand keeps moving, strokes firm and fast. 

His lips never leave Rins’ neck, sucking a bruise, creating sort of an evidence that yes, this is real. They’re real. Short-lived maybe, but real nonetheless. The older wraps his arm around him eventually, pulls him on top and then reaches up to kiss him. Maybe devour would be a better word for it? And Alex takes a moment to look down, study the familiar face, watch it come undone under him and it hurts to know that it will be over soon.

His thoughts are lost when the other bucks up against them, cocks rubbing against each other now. He laces their fingers, wraps their joint hands around both of them and it’s almost too much already, the closeness, the bond, the feeling of being inseparable. And Alex comes too quickly and he’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for Rins following him over the edge almost immediately.

They allow themselves another moment, sticky against each other and both panting. Floating on their afterglow highs. 

The sound of an alarm, coming from one of their phones, shatters the moment.

”I need to leave,” Alex mumbles, disentangling reluctantly.

”I know.”

Rins reaches out, takes his wrist, pulls him back down for a brief kiss.

”Believe me, I know,” the other says, with his voice hoarse.

”I’ll miss you,” Alex whispers as he puts his clothes back on, getting ready to sneak out into the early morning, hoping and praying that no one will see, like he has so many times before. “All the time.” 

Alex hesitates in the doorway, adoring the sight one last time. He really loves seeing the other like this, naked and tangled in the white sheets, looking equally vulnerable and affectionate. _I love you so much._ The words… they want out, but Alex bites his tongue, keeping them inside, not wanting to ruin _this_ , whatever it is.

”I know,” Rins says with another smile and Alex nods before he turns around and leaves.

The cold morning air makes him shudder and that’s it, the reality of a season that’s so much harder than expected hitting him again. _Never thought it would be so difficult without you._

 _When I’m away_  
_I will remember how you kissed me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: _Photograph_ , Ed Sheeran


	7. Gentle - Johann/Enea [T]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request and to the very wonderful person who asked for these two: I'm sorry it's not more explicit (yet?), I hope you still like it a little. Inspiration was kind this morning :) And thank you so, so much ♥

Johann isn’t used to winning. One would think that he is, by now at least. But somehow, it’s still not sinking in the way it should, doesn’t make him as happy as it should or as he’d expected it would. Not that he isn’t totally overwhelmed up on that podium or during the celebrations in parc fermé. Just… when that’s done with and the crew starts debriefing and packing, that’s when he’s left to himself and when he feels empty all over sudden. And that’s when he goes into hiding, somewhere in the paddock, usually between motorhomes and piles of tires.

This weekend is no different. The traditional orange shoes are packed away safely, the trophy is handed over to the team, he’s changed – and once more, he feels the familiar wave of emptiness run over him. No emotions, only exhaustion left. Running his hands over his face, he grabs his hoodie and slides out of the garage, where he feels useless in these moments where everybody has something important to do – except him.

It’s weird, he figures, how you strive for something all of your life and then you get it and can only enjoy it so briefly. With a sigh and his hands in the pockets of his jeans, sunglasses down like a visor, he wanders through the rows of trucks and motorhomes. It seems that everybody is so buzzing, so important around him. He slides behind a row of boxes and walks past some barrels. He’s just about to slide down and sit on a crate when he hears it, a small noise that reminds him of sniffling.

Maybe he shouldn’t pry. Probably he shouldn’t. Should just turn around and find another place to sulk in his weird after-race-lethargy. But then, it could be anything, didn’t have to be a fellow rider who looks for solitude. It could be a lost child. And Johann feels torn, but even if he wanted to turn around and leave, somehow he can’t, somehow, his feet are making the decision for him and just keep walking, until he walks around the corner of a truck and almost stumbles over the source of the noise.

”Enea?”

_Turn around. Walk away. Don’t stay here. You will only do something you’ll regret._

But Johann reckons it’s too late because he’s said something already and because the younger rider is looking up at him from where he’s crouched on the floor already, eyes red and watery. And Johann wouldn’t know all the Moto3 positions, but he always knows Enea’s and so he knows the Italian placed sixth and while that’s not ideal, he doubts it would be a reason to cry.

Enea is still looking up at him, expression strangely fearful. _Do you think I’ll laugh about this?_ And the younger isn’t saying anything which isn’t making this easier on Johann. And anyway, why does it have to be Enea out of all of them? Why the one that Johann secretly steals glances of? The one that caught more of his attention than he should at the age of 17. And not only has Johann sworn himself he’d never be interested in a fellow rider or anyone involved in motorsports for that matter. He’s also very much aware of that age gap.

”Are you okay?” He gulps and seriously asks himself what he’s trying to do here.

Enea jerks up like he was stung by a bee and straightens his clothes hastily.

”Sure, sure. I’m okay. Nothing wrong.”

_Good. That’s good. Now just say goodbye and let the boy walk back to his team._

”You don’t look okay though.”

_Shit. Why did I say that?_

Somehow, Johann gets the impression his body is acting up against his brain here.

”It’s okay. Just girlfriend trouble.”

Enea’s voice sounds heartbreakingly down. At least, Johann thinks that’s why his stomach is clenching. Not at all because of the ruffled black hair or the tan, wiry biceps flexing while Enea picks his hoodie up from the ground.

”Ah, I see. That’ll settle for sure.”

Johann facepalms internally. That’s just how his parents would have reacted when he was that age and while to older people it seems that way, it certainly doesn’t when you’re still a teenager and Johann is young enough to remember that.

”It won’t. She broke up.”

If the boy keeps biting his lip that way, Johann will have to rearrange his jeans soon.

”Oh. Well, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of girls interested in replacing her.”

_Goddammit. I sound like my mother._

And Enea just looks at him with those wound eyes and Johann knows he’s not helping matters. He wishes he could though, he really does.

”She said I can’t kiss.”

From any other rider that age, Johann would have found it adorable, especially combined with the blushing and everything. From Enea, it’s first of all heartbreaking. Secondly, what kind of ungrateful bitch would say that to _ENEA_ of all people. And thirdly, dammit, Johann shouldn’t be looking at these red full lips and think or hear of kissing ever. This is dangerously close to him giving away things that shouldn’t be out in the open.

”Maybe she can’t. There’s always two involved in that.” Johann tries to bring the words out as casual as possible and wills himself to keep breathing.

”You think so?”

Enea’s voice sounds so hopeful, it almost hurts again.

”Sure. Or maybe you just didn’t have the right chemistry. Or maybe you only need a little bit of practice? Either way, she’s a fool for breaking things over that.”

_Johann to self: Stop. This is dangerous grounds._

”Practice?”

Enea looks at him, not convinced.

”Why not?”

_I have to keep my mouth shut._

”Well, who’d practice with me though?”

_Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it._

”I would.”

_Shit._

”What?” Enea splutters and stares at him and the younger looks truly dumbfounded.

”Sorry,” Johann’s mind is blank, he doesn’t know how to get himself out of this hole he so efficiently dug for himself, “Sorry. That was-“

”No, you’re right. Why not?”

_Huh?_

It’s his turn to look dumbfounded, to scan the other’s face for signs that this is a joke. But Enea just stands there and looks at him, curious and somehow interested.

”Really?”

”Well, only if you want,” Enea says, blushing again and wow, that looks too cute now.

”Sure.”

_Too eager. I have to sound less eager. And why is my throat all dry?_

”Okay,” Enea says, nodding determinedly and damned, Johann wonders, what did he get himself into here?

He awkwardly reaches out, puts his hands around the younger’s neck and Enea drops the hoody again and follows his example. The boy’s hands against his skin send a shiver down Johann’s spine and their eyes meet. Johann feels as scared as Enea looks and so he closes his eyes before he takes a deep breath through his nose and leans forward. For a moment, he thinks his heart will explode with fear but then Enea must have leant in, too and their mouths meet. And Enea’s lips are soft, so much softer than he expected and after another moment of blissful terror, the Italian’s lips part, tongue darting out tentatively. Johann’s heart skips a beat. 

Enea is gentle, careful, loving in his movements and Johann, despite being older, more experienced, more aware of how bad this idea is exactly, doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore and just gives in. He parts his lips, too, allows their kiss to deepen. And he explores Enea’s mouth, licking his way into it, tasting a mix of mint and saltiness from the tears on the younger’s lips.

He has no idea how long exactly they continue their _practice session_. But the second Johann realizes that he’s rock hard, the older breaks away, panting slightly. His eyes fly open, meeting Enea’s who is also trying to catch his breath and looking at him with pure wonder.

_Well, one thing I’m sure of. If she said she broke up because you’re a bad kisser, she must have been lying._

_Lately I found myself in doubt,_  
_Ask myself what it's all about_  
_What am I doing here? What's this leading to?_  
_What's the point of all? I found you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: _Open Book_ , José Gonzalez


	8. Haunted - Zlatan/Gerard [M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://blogofarchu.blogspot.de/2010/05/ibrahimovic-pique-holding-hands.html?m=1
> 
> The pics in question...

The pictures haunt him. For a while, they are everywhere. In every paper, on every website. All the messages he gets, any interview request, every single call – it’s all aimed at that one question. _”Are you gay?”_

The strange thing about it is how a week ago, he would have shrugged, denied and moved on as if nothing happened. Because a week ago, Zlatan would have been sure of his answer. Now though, he’s seen the pictures, too. And not just once. And it’s made him see something, realize something that he still hasn’t quite caught up with himself.

But it’s not really deniable, when he looks at the photos, how there’s _something_ going on between them. And Zlatan may be dense and thick at times, especially when it comes to social interactions, but he’s not that bad. So he’s replayed many, many scenes in his head, thought about countless conversations he’s had with Gerard. And at some point, in the middle of the night, his body tangled in the sheets, he’d bolted up from the mattress, jaw dropped and he’d realized that well, gay or not, he sure had a thing for Gerard. A thing that he was pretty sure was reciprocated.

However, the same pictures that made him see what he had right in front of his eyes also ruin everything. Because whatever there has been, the sparks between them have been extinguished by the uproar that’s been caused by the pictures, the turmoil that’s kept both of them from having a single moment to talk about anything. After all, it’s not like they could just meet up for a coffee and discuss things. Now even less than before.

It’s weird, ironic, how all of this comes up when they’re actually not going to see each other much anymore. And when they’re both not available for a relationship anyway. So basically, it’s all coming up when it’s a lost cause. Or maybe that’s exactly why it’s dwelling up inside of him. Why suddenly, when he sees Gerard, his heart thumps a bit louder and his stomach feels a bit off.

He couldn’t even say if it bothers or disturbs him, or if he’s just surprised. Or maybe scared. But no, Zlatan is never scared. But surprising it is definitely. He has a crush, on a man, a teammate, a friend, a crush that, judging by their looks and hands on that photograph, is probably returned, too. It makes him feel very bitter at the world and fate and just everything that he only finds out when it’s seemingly too late.

It’s during a rainy week in late summer, the city around him still strange, unfamiliar, unwelcoming, when he gets a text from Gerard. _I’m in town. Meet up?_

It’s nothing like Gerard to send something like that. And they haven’t met up for a while and Zlatan is terrified of the headlights they’ll cause if they are seen.

_Come to my place._

He replies anyway, willing to risk a lot when he imagines Gerard’s face in front of him and his entire body suddenly trembles with longing. 

_Address?_

He facepalms, feels like an idiot for forgetting that Gerard, of course, has never been to his new place. He types down the street and number immediately and then the waiting begins. His knuckles turn white from their iron grip on his phone. Any second, he expects Gerard to cancel on him.

The sound of the doorbell makes him jerk up from his chair, pacing to the door. He opens it to find Gerard on his step, _his_ Gerard. Zlatan wants to say something, but somehow words are difficult right now and so he just swallows hard and steps aside, letting Gerard in.

They used to meet like this in Barcelona all the time, hang out, watch movies, drink a couple of beers. Somehow though, the rules seem to have changed now? Zlatan doesn’t ask, but he suspects Gerard flew here for him. The implication makes him weak in the knees. Instead of beer, he makes them coffee and they settle on his tiny balcony, overlooking a city he’s not feeling good about at all anymore. Though with Gerard at his side, he’s beginning to feel better.

”What are you doing here?” He asks, feeling ridiculous for hoping and praying that Gerard would say it’s all because of him. That he’d just missed him.

”Sponsor event.” _Right._ Hoping in vain it is then. Zlatan nods and hums approvingly. He sees his knees tremble and realizes how this is not him, how everything about this is so out of character, so weird and unexpected. But still. One look at Gerard’s face, lost in thought next to him, and Zlatan feels that undeniable twist in his stomach again.

”Ibra-“ Gerard starts and something about the tone in his voice makes Zlatan turn his head sharply, eyebrows raised expectantly. Gerard fidgets in his chair, eyes evading Zlatan’s and glancing over the city around them. “Ibra- there was this reporter. He brought up the pictures. Again.”

Gerard’s voice gets softer and softer until Zlatan has to guess more than he listens.

”Ibra… have you ever… I don’t know… have you looked at the pictures?”

Gerard’s hands rub his thighs and he’s staring at the floor. Zlatan follows his example. When he answers, his voice is hoarse.

”Sure I have. Sure. They’re… everywhere, I think.”

”Hmm. Ibra… have we…-“ Gerard trails of for a moment and Zlatan turns his head again, meets the other’s gaze, sees the nervousness radiate from him and knows that he’s doing the same. “Do you think we’ve been blind?”

Gerard puts a hand on the small table between them and Zlatan looks down, looks at beautiful, slender fingers and debates in his head, asks himself if he’s ready – if they’re ready – to open this box. Wonders, how life will ever be the same again after tonight. 

The sun is setting over the city around them, muffled traffic noises reaching them while they’re overlooking the narrow old-town streets. The first lights and neon signs are lit already. The air is still heavy and hot though but Zlatan still shivers.

He must have watched Gerard’s fingers for an eternity by the time he finally inhales sharply and moves his hand, covering the other man’s gently.

”I…-“ He can’t bear looking at Gerard, he is too scared he’s reading this wrong, too scared he’ll wake up any second, because clearly, this is too insane to be true. Instead, he watches their hands, joint on the table and he focuses on the feeling of Gerard’s skin against his that makes him shudder so beautifully. “Gerard, I missed you so much.”

There’s so much more he really wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.

Things happen in a blur from there on. Gerard tells him he missed him, too and he couldn’t remember who got up first, but they end up in his living room, only a small lamp casting a dim light into the room and he presses Gerard against the floor-length window of the balcony, breathes in the familiar smell, loses himself in it. They don’t talk about it anymore, go by instinct only and Zlatan wants. And needs. And craves. And he’s too far gone to worry or care about any reasons why he shouldn’t, with his head buried in the crook of Gerard’s neck and his fingers under Gerard’s T-Shirt, roaming over a broad, muscular back that’s so different from those fragile, slim built women Zlatan usually takes up to his apartment.

He kisses a line from Gerard’s collar over his jaw, the stubble new against his lips, but not in a bad way, before he dares to kiss the other. Gerard responds almost eagerly, hands getting tangled in Zlatan’s hair, lips parting invitingly. They groan and moan and the kiss turns into something messy and passionate, sweat covering their foreheads and hard, denim covered bulges rubbing against each other.

Zlatan has never done this with a man, hasn’t even been close to it. About Gerard, he doesn’t know, as it’s something they never talked about. Still, for tonight, it seems only logical and reasonable that he takes him to his bed, that he undresses him and litters his body with kisses. Licks his nipples until Gerard almost screams with pleasure and grips Zlatan’s hair tight enough to pull out some of it. It’s hot, so unbelievably hot, seeing Gerard beneath him, squirming. Hearing him gasp and moan and pant. Zlatan watches closely and wants to memorize every second, acutely aware that there won’t be a repeat anytime soon.

He chucks his own clothes carelessly and in record time and that first moment where he’s settled on top of the other and their naked cocks touch and rub against each other, it’s the hottest moment in Zlatan’s life. No doubt, no second-guessing. They rub and move, the Swede doing most of the work, until they both come with a scream and end up in a collapsed, sticky and breathless mess on the sheets.

They should shower, but Zlatan doesn’t have it in himself to get up now or make Gerard move, who looks completely spaced out. So, he just rolls to lie next to the other man in his bed, still not fazed by the fact that there _is_ another man in his bed. Zlatan wraps his arms around Gerard’s body as if he’s never slept any different and when he nuzzles his head into the other’s neck, he feels like he’s finally at home here.

”I love you, Ibra,” he hears Gerard whisper into the darkness and the sentence makes him happy. As happy, or happier, than the titles he’s won and Zlatan choses to revel in that happy feeling for tonight without wondering if, how or when they’ll deal with it.

”I love you, too,” he mumbles, but he’s not quite sure the other heard him before falling apart.

The next morning starts like all the others here, light filtering in through window shutters and traffic noises in Zlatan’s ears. The bed next to him is empty and cold and it makes his heart clench painfully, even though it’s not a surprise. Not at all. Maybe he would have expected a goodbye. But apparently, that’s not happening.

He just sits there, still disheveled and messy from last night, staring at the empty spot next to him. Maybe there’s a stray tear on his cheek, wiped away hastily, before he gets up with gritted teeth, stumbling into his kitchen on autopilot.

”Good morning, love. I got us some fresh croissants and I think I worked out how your coffee machine functions.”

Zlatan freezes, wondering whether he’s hallucinating for second. But the sight in front of him, Gerard in his worn out jeans and one of Zlatan’s own T-Shirts, hair still damp, flashing him a huge smile, it’s real. And beautiful. And Gerard feels real in his hands when he falls around his neck to kiss him and maybe Zlatan will just give them some more hours before they realize that this can’t be happening.

 _We don’t have forever_  
_Baby daylight’s wasting_  
_You better kiss me_  
_Before our time is run out_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _XO_ , John Mayer


	9. Irony - Iker/Fernando [T]

_I just read the news. Tell me it’s a lie._

Iker stares at his phone, eyes blinking a bit against the tears that threaten to dwell up again. How can he explain it to _him_ of all people?

_Sorry you read about it. I meant to call you but media was faster. I’m sorry._

The goalkeeper lets himself fall into one of his leather armchairs, staring out into a still blue sky, first clouds building up for the announced thunderstorm in the distance. There’s a lump in his throat. It’s disturbing. And it’s not going away, no matter how much he swallows against it.

For all these years, the sounds of the familiar city around him have calmed his senses and soothed his soul, but tonight of all nights, they fail him miserably. Because the second he leans over his balcony railing and looks at the narrow street underneath, he realizes that he won’t be here a week from now. Or two weeks from now. Because when he’ll turn around, there’ll be his armchairs and his shelves, but on the shelves, there’ll be nothing. And the boxes in the corner of the room didn’t use to be there at all.

_Why?_

It’s one word only, not quite Fernando’s usual style. Iker can’t tell whether it’s a sign of disappointment or sadness. Or an unspoken accusation. Just like he can’t read Fernando most of the time. Can’t tell whether the coy smiles mean more or not. Whether the lingering touches on his back are supposed to be a hint or not. It wouldn’t matter, he tells himself, for possibly the hundredth time tonight and in his life, because there’s Sara and there’s Olalla and there’s the kids. And Iker wouldn’t do that. Maybe five years ago he would. Today? With all that they’ve achieved, on and off the pitch? No way. Iker shakes his head and sighs.

He has to reply sooner or later. Rather later. But that wouldn’t be fair. Letting him find out through the news has already been unfair enough. Not answering now is a sign of weakness. Cowardice. Iker despises both. 

He’s back in his chair, typing, deleting, re-typing and analyzing every word, when his doorbell rings.

_Great._

Iker knows he’s making a sour face, knows he looks all but happy about visitors right now. Thing is, he really doesn’t want to deal with people at the moment. 

Except, when he opens the door, ready to tell whoever he finds on his doorstep to leave him alone, two very familiar brown eyes greet him with an apologetic look.

”I’m sorry, but I had to see you.”

Of course, in a situation where Iker is to blame for everything that’s wrong, Fernando is the one who apologizes first. It’s such an irony, again, that it takes the breath out of Iker’s lungs and erases the words from his mind. Here he is, wallowing in self-pity and on his doorstep, he finds everything he ever wanted. Needed. Searched for.

They exchange a brief hug and the conventional kisses on the cheek, without any further words. There’s no need for conversation during a ritual that feels as old as Iker himself. They’re both halfway through a can of beer, standing on the narrow balcony with their arms so close that Iker can feel the heat of Fernando’s body. It’s making the hair on his arms stand up with tension and anticipation. Inside of him, he feels almost ten years of self-restraint and holding back crumbling into pieces, waves of Fernando’s smell washing over him and the will, the want, the need to turn and bury himself in the other’s arms overwhelming him.

”Why?”

Fernando’s voice sounds casual, but Iker can hear the slight tremor and the worry the simple word conveys.

”It’s better this way, don’t you think?”

Fernando hums and shrugs and stares into the sky, darkness falling over the city and first signs of lightning visible in the distance. A soft grumbling announces the thunderstorm coming closer.

”It’s not fair that you leave now that I’m back. It won’t be home without you anymore. It’s just so ironic that you’re leaving now of all times.”

The simplicity, the vulnerability in Fernando’s statement blows him away. Like, how can the striker, after denying the inevitable for all these years, just lay his cards on the table here? Iker grits his teeth and grips the railing, knuckles whitening.

”Fer-,” he stops again, the words gone from his mind again and inhales sharply. In the distance, the thunder growls louder. “Fer- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.”

It’s nothing but the naked truth, Iker thinks and watches the lightning bolts draw patterns in the black sky. Fernando is right next to him, so close, so torturing, teasingly close. He could just reach over and have him, have everything he wants.

”I’ll miss you so much.”

There’s no pretense or drama in the blonde’s voice. The statement is just that, a statement.

Temptation is an evil thing, Iker thinks, his fingers itching to reach out, touch, comfort. He draws in a shaky breath to calm himself, but he’s not very successful at all. 

With a loud rumbling, the sky suddenly opens the gates and rain starts pouring down. They retreat into his living room, dimly lit by some leftover table lamp. For a moment, they stand in the middle of the room that’s too empty, staring at each other. 

Iker knows it a second before it actually happens, feels the tips of Fernando’s fingers against his jaw an instant before they’re actually there, scraping over his stubble and with the roaring of the thunder behind them and the rain splashing against the windows, the last dams inside Iker are bursting, too.

His hands tangle in Fernando’s hair eagerly, holding the blonde’s head in place while he presses their lips together, nothing chaste about his attack. And there’s no hesitation on Fer’s side at all, the younger opening his mouth willingly, tongue tracing Iker’s lips, begging for entrance. Iker moans into their kiss, sounds getting lost between them, as Fernando licks into his mouth, nibbles on his lower lip, traces over his teeth. His hands are still in the other’s hair, fingers roaming over his scalp, while Fernando’s nails are already under his shirt, leaving marks on the skin of his back. Everything about this feels as if it should always have been like this, Iker thinks and he can’t believe they wasted all of this.

He pulls back when he needs air and oxygen too desperately, forehead leaning against Fernando’s. When the storm isn’t hauling, the sound of their panting fills the room. Iker’s cheeks are damp.

”I love you,” Fernando whispers, his breath hot against Iker’s ear and the goalkeepers knees almost give in.

”Me too,” he mumbles, straight into Fernando’s hair, his body shaking against the striker’s even in their tight embrace.

He couldn’t tell how long they’ve been standing there, but when Fernando finally disentangles from him with determination, heading straight for the door, the thunderstorm has stopped and the splashing of rain has reduced to soft sounds of single drops hitting the glass.

They don’t need more words, not tonight, maybe not ever, because they’re both old enough to know that this kiss was already more than they could ask for. That what they crave is unattainable. Iker watches Fernando leave, leather jacket slung around broad shoulder carelessly, head hanging in resignation. And Iker remembers a very similar moment, eight years ago. He’d been the one leaving then. But there hadn’t been a kiss. And for this one night, Iker allows himself the time to wonder how his life, their lives, could be different today if he’d had the courage then. For one night, he lets the tears fall and allows himself to feel angry, unreasonably furious, over a situation that he thinks couldn’t be more ironic. Finally understanding what you really need in life when you can’t have it anymore.

 _It's meeting the man of my dreams_  
_And then meeting his beautiful wife_  
_And isn't it ironic...don't you think_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ironic_ , Alanis Morisette


	10. Jellybeans - Vale/Nicky [G]

“I want jellybeans.“

The voice, demanding, stern, it makes Nicky wake up. He’s disoriented at first, rubbing at his face and he gazes at the digital clock. 3.46. With a groan, he buries his face in the pillow.

”I really want jellybeans.”

For a moment, Nicky feels like screaming. Or crying. And he wants it to be over. Because he’s exhausted, worn out, ragged, done, tired and overall, completely and utterly desperate for sleep. It’s been weeks since he’s last slept for more than three hours at a time and when he thinks of what’s ahead of him, it makes him wince and bury his head even deeper.

”Please,” the voice next to him sounds like it’s breaking and Nicky resigns to fate.

He disentangles from the sheets and sits up, turning on the night lamp. The moment his eyes have adjusted to the dim light, the second he’s actually looking at the ruffled head next to him, all the exhaustion is wiped away within an instant. _You’re my world… you really are everything to me._ He feels his heart thump a bit louder and reaches out to cup the other’s face, presses a feathery kiss to a damp forehead.

”Jellybeans?” He asks, nose wrinkle, when he finally lets go of him. Sometimes, his mood and taste changes quickly and Nicky has learned to be on the safe side.

”Jellybeans.”

”Okay, jellybeans then.”

He pads downstairs, bare feet over cool tiles, shivering slightly from coldness and being tired. With a yawn, he opens _the cupboard_ , the magic place where all the food that might become a necessity in the middle of the night, is stacked and piled. Things that they never even bought earlier, that athletes certainly weren’t supposed to eat. Peanut butter, chocolates, varieties of cookies, gummibears, licorice and yes, jellybeans. 

Nicky grabs the bag triumphantly and leans back against the counter for a moment, eyeing the little colorful pearls with a disbelieving but joyful smile. It’s such a miracle, he thinks, still. Difficult to believe. All the things they’ve experienced, the things that led them here, it’s incredible. He remembers spending his mornings on the bathroom floor, arm around Vale’s shoulders, worried out of his mind because back then, they simply had no idea. And he remembers their doctor’s appointment, the shock, the notion that they’re insane. Or dreaming. And the little computer screen with a somehow pulsating black spot.

Nicky shivers from head to toe just from the memory and starts to walk back to the bathroom. The little black spot has visible arms and legs now. And a very exclusive taste in sweets at very inappropriate times. It’s taken over their lives, their dreams, their future. Admittedly, Vale’s even more than his own. Because there’s a bump where Nicky used to only feel defined muscles. Because Vale’s thrown up more than during his best party times. And eaten more sweets than during all his childhood Christmases together. 

”Here you go,” he mumbles, crawling back under the covers, watching Vale’s face in the vague light. The Italian flashes him that broad, grateful smile, just like he’s done all the countless nights before and then he finishes half a bag of jellybeans without batting an eyelid. Nicky can’t help but watch him with an amused smile around his lips. 

”Sorry,” Vale whispers, cheeks blushing, when he finally puts the rest on his nightstand.

”Don’t be.” Nicky rolls to his side, hand sliding under the sheets and tracing a line from Vale’s throat to his navel. “God, I still can’t believe it.”

”I know. It’s incredible. And terrifying.” Vale’s hand covers his and presses down and Nicky sees the worry creep into the older riders’ eyes.

”A little?” He suggests. “But in the best possible way.”

He presses a kiss against Vale’s temple and curls up against his husband, lacing their fingers over the little bump that’s holding their greatest gift.

”I love you,” Vale says, words being followed by a long yawn.

Nicky chuckles softly.

”It’s wearing you out already, huh? Goodnight caro, I love you, too.”

He’s not sure Vale even heard him as there’s already a soft snoring coming from the other’s mouth. Nicky reaches out to turn off the light and wraps himself around Vale even closer, smiling broadly and bringing their hands back into their previous position. Not much longer and he’ll feel it, right there, kicking against his hands. And the idea is still strange and crazy and overwhelming and even a little scary – but in the most beautiful way possible.

 _But you and me, we'll never end_  
_We're innocent, we're heaven-sent_  
_We're born together, dying together_  
_Live forever, there's nothing here but… __  
_Love, sweet love__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nothing here but love_ , Lenka
> 
> Remember that Christmas one-shot and how Vale wanted to make a baby? Well, what if... ;) 
> 
> ...my favorites for fluff for a day that needs a smile so desperately.


	11. Kryptonite - Steve/Danny [G]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, new fandom, new pairing. Just experimenting here. They look gorgeous though and I couldn't resist writing at least a bit with them, after I think I've read every single E-rated story about them (which makes it all the more astonishing that this is G-rated :O.... if I ever manage to wrap my head around this a bit better, there might be a sequel...)

Steve snatches the keys for the Camaro from Danny without batting an eyelid, dropping into the driver’s seat as if it was the most natural thing to do, especially a few hours after being shot and stitched back together. In fact, for him it is, though he assumes that Danny will disagree. Which the blonde does, loudly as usual. He’s standing in the open driver’s door, one arm on top of the roof, head bowed down to Steve, words flying from his mouth like little daggers.

”What do you think you are doing here, Steven? And where do you think you are going?”

Steve _knows_ he’ll pay for this, but he can’t resist. Maybe he’s too drained. Or maybe he doesn’t even try to hold it back.

”Driving. Home.” He mumbles, hands on the steering wheel and eyes straight ahead, though he doesn’t really see anything, just stares blankly into the distance.

”Home? Driving?” Danny’s voice is getting into ranting mode and his arms start flailing, Steve notices from the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t listen, doesn’t watch, needs to do neither. They’ve done this enough times for him to know perfectly well what Danny is saying. Essentially, he’s making a point that Steve’s an idiot. That Steve’s not even human but some kind of superman.

A small smile spreads over Steve’s lips as he remembers that one time where Danny, in a similar rant, had asked him how he got his superpowers, what his kryptonite was. And how he’d thought _You… you’re my kryptonite_ and wondered how Danny, who usually was such an ace detective, hadn’t figured it out.

He’s still not listening, but he registers Danny moving into the passenger seat, never interrupting his monologue and Steve starts the car, heading for his house on autopilot.

It’s been a few years now, he thinks and Danny still hasn’t figured it out. At least, there are no hints that he has. Neither a transfer request, nor any change in behavior. No reciprocated interest. Just plain out nothing and it bites and stings a bit, just how much he apparently has Steve friendzoned.

”And you’re smiling… actually smiling. Are you making fun of me here, Steven” He tunes back into Danny’s rant and quickly changes his facial expression, hastily shakes his head. Not that it’s going to stop Danny. But it’s not like Steve wants Danny to stop.“Because it sure looks like you’re laughing at me. And I don’t see where there’s anything remotely funny about you almost getting us killed on a daily basis and-“

Steve loses track again, focuses on the road. In his head, he sees all the images of Danny that he’s saved to his memory over the years. Danny in Korea, Danny drawing a heart into the air, Danny stricken and washed over with guilt. He’d been allowed to see Danny at his weakest and at his strongest and he thinks of it as a kind of honor. And sometimes, he regrets that he isn’t returning the trust, not fully. That he’s not sharing as much with Danny as he should. Though, deep down inside, Steve thinks alone the fact that he is, indeed, _trying_ to be a better person with and for Danny, it says a lot.

He pulls into his driveway and tosses Danny the keys, but just as expected Danny shows no sign of getting into the driver’s seat and leaving. He simply follows Steve inside, waving the keys while he’s flailing now and still going on about something, _pineapples and rain?_ while Steve walks straight to his Lanai, falling into one of the chairs. Not for the first time since they met, he wonders how Danny manages breathing through this endless talking thing. Probably, Danny would have made a great SEAL, after all, he doesn’t seem to need any oxygen at all. A smile is tugging at Steve’s lips again.

”And anyway, Steven, what are you thinking? That I will just leave you to yourself now? That only hours after surgery I will just leave you to yourself? Because let me tell you something, it’s not that you wouldn’t deserve the lecture, of you now, waking up in pain, being alone and bleeding because of some uncalled for complication. Really, you’d deserve that. But I’m staying, because yeah, as you keep pointing out, we’re Ohana and because Kono would have my head and because I’m sure Gracie would be mad at me if I let anything bad happen to her uncle Steve and-“

Danny inhales sharply. So he does need to breathe every once in a while. Letting Danny’s constant rant lull him into some floating state of mind, Steve thinks of all the things he would like to do with Danny. Share with Danny. Kisses in the morning. Sharing a malasada. Go to sleep with Danny in his arms. And all the things he’d like to tell Danny. _I really love you, Danno,_ the first coming to his mind. And when Danny is suddenly completely quiet, Steve very slowly realizes that just maybe, he said that out loud. He bites down on his lip and turns his head ever so slowly, heart hammering in his chest and stomach twisting at the thought of Danny’s possible reaction.

For the first time since they became partners, he sees Danny speechless and the sight of his small partner, gaping like a fish, arms stuck in mid-air, it’s so funny that he can’t hold back. With even the best SEAL training failing him, Steve is bursting into loud laughter, blaming the effect of the painkillers for his outburst. He cannot stop and soon his body is shaking under the chuckles, until suddenly, Danny slides out of his chair with the elegance and efficiency of a hunting cat and next, he feels Danny’s strong hands around his neck. Finally, Danny does to Steve what Steve’s only been dreaming of doing to Danny for all this time, holds his face in place and silences him with a searing kiss.

_I'll keep you by my side_  
_with all my superhuman might_  
_Kryptonite_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kryptonite_ , Three Doors Down


	12. Lines - Vale/Luca [E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incest warning. (I mean... when you see the pairing, what do you expect?) If it's not your thing, just don't read it? Unless someone is forcing you to read it at gunpoint... which I imagine would be an interesting situation...
> 
> All the credit goes to the wonderful Lyra, this wouldn't be here without you ♥

“Vale, please, they’re just lines.“

Luca is whining now, chin in hand, pouting. It makes Vale look away quickly, that pout, because it always gives him ideas. Dangerous ideas. Disgusting ideas. Thoughts he wouldn’t admit he’s having if his life depended on it. Luca’s lips are so dark, so full and he’d love to know how they feel and taste, against his own. Or maybe around… He shakes his head, tries to chase the images away and shifts in his chair nervously, trying to conceal the events inside his jeans. With an exasperated sigh, he leans over the desk and points at another equation. Which was a bad idea, as he know has Luca’s scent in his nose and that’s not helpful at all.

”Okay, first of all, they’re not lines, most of these are curves. And second, it’s not my holidays that depend on understanding this crap. So, get your act together and try again.”

His eyes follow Luca’s pencil. Or rather the slender fingers wrapped around it and the movement makes him slightly dizzy. Helping his half-brother through the last exams of the year has turned out to be the worst idea in his life, ever since the first time a few days ago where he’s been sitting here, in the small bedroom in the attic, squeezed next to the lanky teen on a hard wooden chair that he remembers from his days here. It’s hot already, after all it’s June, and the rooms under the attic are sticky and stuffy, especially in the afternoon. Even with the blinds down.

”Better now?”

He jerks up from his little train of thought and focuses on the numbers, neatly written onto the squared paper. Luca does, Vale admits hesitantly, have a beautiful handwriting. Sometimes, he needs to restrain himself from tracing the perfectly written numbers with his own fingers. Math skills though, his brother has close to none. 

”No, not better. Worse, if anything. You need to check the second line and multiply correctly. And even you should have understood that there’s no division by zero.”

His voice is hoarse, which is not good. Because it means that his façade is crumbling. And the way Luca shoots him a glance, curious, brows a little furrowed, it means the younger has realized it, too. Vale pretends that he’s oblivious and pours himself a glass of water, downing it in a single gulp.

”Vale, please. I can’t get it into my head today. It’s too hot.”

Luca drops the pen, his decision apparently made and when he meets the younger’s gaze, there’s a hint of viciousness in his eyes that makes Vale uncomfortable.

”We can’t just stop here and I won’t let you give up that easily. Just have some water and then try again.” He forces his voice into something good-natured and cheery and evades Luca’s look. Still, out of the corner of his eyes, he cannot help but watch. First, the way he pours the water with these long, beautiful fingers, then the way he drinks, eyes half-closed, head leaning back a bit. Vale bites his lip at the sight of Luca’s flushed cheeks, covered with a sheen of sweat and he squirms when Luca swallows, when he sees the younger’s throat move, Adam’s apple bopping up and down.

”You know,” he’s been too mesmerized, too far gone, to even notice that Luca has moved, leaned over to him, whispering straight into his ear now. The sound of his voice so close, his hot breath against Vale’s ear, both makes the older inhale sharply, fingers clenching around the wood of the chair, “I kind of see what’s happening here.”

He yelps. There’s no other, no more flattering description for the sound that escapes his mouth when out of nowhere, Luca’s hand presses down on his crotch. Presses against the very obvious proof of these thoughts that Vale wishes he could just ban from his brain forever. And Luca, the little devil, chuckles softly, noise against the shell of his ear sending a shudder down Vale’s spine.

”It’s not about you,” Vale presses out between gritted teeth, staring down at his lap where Luca’s hand is resting loosely against the denim of his jeans now. 

”Oh really?” Luca snarls and Vale can hear the smirk in his voice, while his brother’s fingers start moving over his bulge, in a way that is not at all chaste. Or inexperienced.

”Really,” he says, already a little breathless, his hand wrapping around Luca’s wrist and moving the boy’s hand aside.

”Too bad,” Luca says, the evilness in his voice making Vale’s blood freeze, “because I thought you’d deserve some fun, you know? I mean, it’s awfully nice of you, sacrificing your summer break to help me through my exams.”

Luca is still whispering straight into his ear and the sensation is just too much, too intense, sending all kinds of shivers and electric jolts through Vale’s body. And his cock might have been half-hard before, but now it’s straining painfully against the jeans.

”Maybe,” Luca starts again, his free hand now tracing a line from Vale’s forehead to his neck that makes Vale gasp, “if I promise I’ll be a really good boy and practice some more later, maybe we could both use a break? Just… to take the edge off? Relax? Shower? And then, you know, when we’re all clean and fresh again, then you teach me some more?”

The growl escapes his throat without that he has the slightest possibility to hold back. Then, he jumps from the chair, hands rubbing over his face and back against Luca’s wall.

”Luca, stop it,” he hisses, eyes trained to the floor, “that’s not even… you’re not… We just can’t.”

His heart is racing impossibly fast and it takes a lot not to throw the younger onto that mattress that’s behind him, so tempting, same black iron bed that Vale used to have in his childhood room.

”Why though?” Luca stalks towards him like a lion following his prey, stepping into his private space without hesitation, mouth leaning against his ear. Again. “It’s not like anybody would find out. And you’re not likely to get me pregnant. So nobody will get hurt.”

Luca’s fingers are running through his hair and Vale clenches his teeth and balls his fists, but it’s too much, way too much to bear. And maybe they’ve been heading towards this for far too long already.

”Really? That’s what you want? Because I don’t think you even know what you’re getting yourself into here,” Vale hisses the words, his hands already out to cup Luca’s face. The younger willingly lets him shift their position until it’s Luca whose back presses against the wall, face in Vale’s hands and the older crashes their lips together as if there’s no tomorrow.

There’s a first instant of shock and absolute terror at what he’s doing, where he freezes against Luca’s lips and thinks his chest will explode. Thousands of thoughts are running through his head and every cell in his body seems to scream at him to stop and run while he still can. Only, it’s too late to run already, as Luca’s hands slide into the back pockets of his jeans, pressing him closer, bulge against bulge now. Vale loses control quicker than ever, growling into their kiss, lips parting hastily. Luca’s lips feel soft against his, soft and full and he tastes like mint and a bit of salt and Vale chases the taste, tongue licking deeper, hands still holding the boy’s face in place. They’re both moaning and damned, Luca isn’t doing this for the first time, Vale thinks, judging by the way he is holding Vale’s hips against his own, allowing their crotches to rub against each other.

He pulls away when the need for oxygen grows stronger than the desperate need to be closer, ever so much closer, to Luca. Standing there, both of them panting hard, chests heaving and looking into Luca’s disheveled face, hair ruffled, cheeks pink, Vale thinks that it’s the last opportunity to back down. Last chance to stop them from crossing the last line. The one line that they never even should think about crossing. But it’s Luca, there, in front of him, ready for him to take. Everything he ever wanted. And Luca wants him back, he sure does. With his swollen, glistening lips and the wide, blown pupils. So Vale loses the fight, loses his controls, greedily pushing Luca towards the bed.

They stop in front of it, both of them undressing and as the last of his inhibitions seemingly went out of the window, Vale unashamedly marvels the slender, lightly tanned body in front of him. Incredulous fingers tracing over visible ribs and sensitive nipples, Luca gasping sharply under the ministrations, Vale explores. Inch by inch, saving the best for last, when his fingers finally wrap around Luca’s cock, giving it a few firm strokes that have the other weak in the knees, forehead dropping against Vale’s chest.

”Please, Vale,” he’s begging against Vale’s skin, shuddering helplessly.

The older pushes him down without batting an eyelid, lust having won the better of him by now.

”You got anything?” he asks breathlessly, between greedy kisses against Luca’s collarbones, hands roaming over Luca’s lithe body. He’s kneeling between Luca’s spread legs already, his destination right in front of him and Luca splayed out on the grey sheets like an offering in the dim light coming in through the mostly closed blinds, it’s beautiful enough to take his breath away.

”Nightstand,” Luca more pants than says, his fingernails digging into the skin of Vale’s back.

A flash of jealousy runs through Vale’s body, makes him red with anger, because Luca having supplies implies that Luca has experience. And right now, Vale cannot bear the thought of anyone with Luca but himself. His hand rummages for lube and condom, while he sucks a big bruise over Luca’s collarbone. It’s a gesture of pure possessiveness, desire to mark the younger overwhelmingly strong. And Luca squirms under him, moans. It’s beautiful, so, so beautiful, Vale thinks.

It’s also driving him up the wall with lust and need and want and he hurries to coat his fingers, running them over Luca’s hole. The boy’s legs fall open all too willingly and while he’s still littering the boy’s chest with kisses, Vale’s first finger presses inside already. Luca is impossibly tight and he’s clinging to Vale so hard that his nails must be drawing blood. The older fights his way inside though, first with one, then with two and three fingers, buried to the knuckles. Like he’s done so many times, with so many strangers, all the random hookups in the random bars, he moves and pushes and scissors, eventually finding that one spot that makes Luca scream and wail, hips bucking up eagerly. He begs for more and Vale is more than willing to give. 

It’s a feeling and sight nothing short of glorious, sliding inside Luca, feeling him clench tightly around him, hearing him beg his name, seeing him come apart. Whatever the fallout may be, Vale has no doubt left that this is going to be the time of all times, the one moment he will never erase from his mind. And he rocks into him, into his younger brother, and the realization isn’t scary or insane, only hot and beautiful. There’s a sense of completion in their act, as if they’d truly been headed for this forever. And it’s simply amazing how from the first second on, they move in perfect sync, each move meeting the other, panting in the same rhythm, both shuddering and moaning incessantly. They're a mess, a sweaty, tangled mess, increasingly loud and wanton noises filling the stuffy air. But Vale is not thinking coherently anymore and so he can't be bothered, cannot wonder about sounds escaping out of the the opened windows, cannot be bothered with curious neighbors overhearing the proof of their little downfall.

Luca bites down on his neck when he comes, no sound coming out of his mind but hot liquid splattering between them and Vale distantly realizes that the younger came without him even touching him. It’s with his last strength that he pounds into Luca some more times, the other now almost painfully tight around him. When he finally comes, it’s with Luca’s name echoing through the room and his vision going grey at the edges. Everything is white and hot for an instant and for probably the first time in his life, his orgasm knocks him out cold for a bit.

When he finally comes back to his senses, it’s to the sight of Luca grinning up at him, blinking all innocent with his long lashes.

”So, what do you think? Anything else I need tutoring with?”

 _The only heaven I'll be sent to_  
_Is when I'm alone with you_  
_I was born sick, but I love it_  
_Command me to be well_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Take me to church_ , Hozier
> 
> ...still waiting for that chariot to take me to hell ;)


	13. Moving - Marc/Dani [M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Paragraphs in italics are flashbacks here..._

_You were all, you alone and no one else_  
_You were meant for me_

When he wakes up, he has no idea where he even is. There’s bright light streaming in through unfamiliar floor-length windows and everything hurts because he’s curled up in a fetal position on a couch that’s too small for a decent night’s sleep. It takes a while for the memories to return and once they do, he wished he’d never even woken up.

 _When I look up from my pillow_  
_I dream you are there with me_

_”I love you so much.” The words are whispered against his neck, Dani’s hot breath on his skin making him shiver and he turns around under the silky sheet, facing his teammate. Dani’s morning face is gorgeous, Marc thinks, with the random streaks of hair clinging to his forehead and the still slightly hooded dark eyes. And the stubble. He reaches out, a finger trailing over Dani’s jaw and then moving into his hair, towards his neck. Dani mirrors his moves, hand moving straight into Marc’s hair, pulling his head forward until their mouths crash hard and Marc moans into the beginning of their kiss. Years, he’s been waiting and yearning for this moment for years and he savors it, second by second. Because this Dani, HIS Dani, in his bed, under his sheets. His Dani who’s just made love to him like no one has ever done before. Who turned his world upside down from the first day they met as teammates on. And now, he’s really, actually, truthfully his._

_Though you are far away_  
_I know you'll always be near to me_

The tears dwell up again and Marc rubs over his still sleepy face, trying to stop himself from breaking down once more. He inhales sharply for a few times and then gets up, stretching his aching muscles. While he pads over the cold tiles of a living room that only holds a couch, a coffee table and a few scattered boxes, he wonders how things could have gone downhill so fast. Not that he would ever find an answer to that.

 _When morning comes again_  
_I have the loneliness you left me_

He wakes up in the late afternoon, head aching vision blurred. Blinking against the too bright light of day, he leans back against the headboard, his hand running over the cold, untouched side of the bed beside him. _Your side. The right side, always._ Dani bites down on his bottom lip, tears beginning to fall again. _I just want you to come back._ He knows Marc doesn’t understand, is too naïve and too young to understand, but he wishes he would and he wish Marc could see that he still means the world to him, that he meant it when he said I love you. Every time. That he never wanted to hurt him. And that he loved having him here, living with him, even if he kept it a secret. Marc moving in here with him, it’s been the first time Dani lived with one of his partners. But then, almost everything with Marc has been a first time for Dani.

 _I go to sleep_  
_And imagine that you're there with me_

_”You’ve never… with a guy?” Marc stares at him, slight look of disbelief on his flushed face. And Dani shrugs, feels himself blush. “No, I- I don’t think this ever occurred to me.” This meaning that he’s lying in Marc’s bed, naked, bruises of Marc’s kisses littering his torso and both of them sweaty, panting and rock hard after a longish make out session. And it’s the solid truth, Dani never ever in his wildest dreams thought about doing this with a man. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try, right?” He says, with a smirk, trying not to sound too nervous. The broadest grin spreads over Marc’s face and he’s already reaching over towards the nightstand when he purrs against Dani’s ear, “Oh, you can definitely try.”_

_I look around me_  
_And feel you are ever so close to me_

He stumbles out of the bed, ends up throwing up into the toilet, everything inside of him feeling twisted and clenched. On his way from the bathroom to the kitchen, he doesn’t miss all the little signs of Marc being gone, for good, the absence of forgotten laundry on the bedroom floor, the missing photos of Roser, Julia and Alex that left the hallway wall empty and forlorn, the lack of spread out Playstation games on his coffee table. There’s not a single Danet in the fridge when Dani pulls out a bottle of beer, not even thinking about the time and whether or not drinking is a good idea now. And he slumps down at his kitchen table, crying over the lack of vanilla flavored yoghurt in his fridge, crying about the chance he’s wasted, the one opportunity to have a life with someone who loves him unconditionally, just because he’s Dani. Not for money, not for appearance, not for fame.

 _Each day drags by_  
_Until finally my time descends on me_

He passes the day in a blurry, fuzzy state of mind, all by himself, not wanting to see or hear anyone. His phone is long turned off, stacked away after Alex wouldn’t stop calling him. By now, the sun is setting already and Marc has no idea when he got up or what he did since then. Though judging by the coffee table, he’s emptied a bottle of red wine. With a shrug, he lets himself fall on the couch, knowing it won’t be comfortable but unable to bring himself to go to bed, because his left side would be empty and despite of what Dani had done and said, he’d miss him, so badly. No, Marc thinks, he’s better off on the couch. 

_Each tear that flows from my eye_  
_Brings back memories of you to me_

_”Look, Marc, I’m sorry, but you really have to try and see-“_

_”I don’t have to do anything. Or understand anything. I’m just a child, remember?”_

_”That’s not what I meant, I just-“_

_”But that’s what you said. I’m too young to know? Screw you.”_

_”All I want is to be happy with you, really. But you have to understand my point, too.”_

_”I think there’s nothing to understand. You think I’m disgusting. That what we’re doing is wrong and against the rules or norms or whatever. Yeah, well, you know what? You sure don’t sound unhappy with what we’re doing when you fuck me. And that’s the thing, right? It’s okay if you fuck me, right? Because it’s the being fucked that’s wrong?”_

_”Marc, stop, this is leading nowhere, let’s just… let’s sleep and then talk tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down.”_

_”Yeah, Dani, you’re damned right, THIS is leading nowhere. And you bet I’ll go sleep now, but not here.”_

_I was wrong, I will cry_  
_I will love you till the day I die_

By the time the night falls down on Geneva. Dani has emptied the last bottle of beer from his fridge, fallen face first into his bed and admittedly isn’t thinking overly straight. Basically, he’s sobbing into his pillow, cursing the emptiness next to him, missing the familiar warmth of Marc curled up around him. It’s not fair, he thinks, it’s not fair how he won’t understand. Won’t see that Dani, with his catholic family background, could never take the steps Marc is asking him for. Dani never meant to imply that they’d have no future, but the fairytales Marc was dreaming about? Officially living together? Telling anyone besides Marc’s family? Honda knowing they’re riders were actually in love with each other? A wedding and adoption? Dani can’t, could never. He wishes he could shake sense into Marc, could make him see the consequences that would bring along. But he can’t. And maybe, deep down, a part of him wishes he could just see what Marc sees… a possibly bright future ahead of them. Instead, he’s now alone, having witnessed Marc pack up his stuff and drive to a house in Andorra that was supposed to be an alibi only. Dani has begged and cried his heart out and still gotten nothing but a cold shoulder and a cold bed. And the nagging feeling that this time, he can only blame himself for falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I go to sleep_ , Sia


	14. Naked - Fernando/Antoine [T]

When the news are announced – and he does find out from the news rather than from the coach or the team – he has just begun to settle in the city that’s slightly bigger, slightly busier than what he’s used to. Not quite the place he’d have chosen to live at if he had a choice. And just when he’s beginning to feel comfortable, starting to consider his new team family, some friendships established, he reads _it_. It’s breakfast time, he’s back from his run, hair still damp, towel around his waist, cereal on the table and he scrolls through social media pop ups on his phone. _Fernando Torres returns to Atlético._ Antoine almost chokes on his cornflakes and he shivers, even in his hopelessly overheated city apartment.

The news, they’re a bit of a dream coming true. They’re also scary. Absolutely surreal, as it’s nothing he’d ever have expected to happen to him. The one player, the one and only, he ever, in all his years on the pitch, developed a somewhat fanboy’ish crush on is going to be playing on his team. It has to be a dream, or at least a false announcement, because coincidences like this don’t happen. Not to Antoine. Who’d kept his sexual orientation a well-hidden secret and who’d never allowed himself to live out his phantasies with anyone remotely connected to football. He gulps, reads it again, hopes to find the source unreliable. Only, it seems to be on every news channel and in every paper, also in the respected ones. And while he walks back to the bathroom, towels himself dry and then gets dressed for the way to the gym, it slowly dawns upon him that _this_ is really happening. And it worries him to no ends that he has no idea if or how he can hide his rather huge physical interest in Fernando. Sharing a locker room with someone that hot? It’s going to be a torturous second half of the season.

*

The first time he runs into Fernando, Antoine is naked and feels horribly exposed, inside and outside. He’s coming back from the shower, towel forgotten on the bench and Fernando’s there, fully dressed, of course. In a suit, probably just back from his official presentation, stuffing away things in his locker. Antoine’s running late and they’re the only ones there and to say that it’s awkward is a blatant understatement. At least for him. Fernando seems unfazed, gives him a huge and genuine smile, making Antoine’s knees even weaker and his clumsy fingers that try to get the towel around his waist even shakier.

”Hi,” Fernando says, holding out his hand once Antoine, finally, has some fabric around his middle. 

”Hey,” he takes the offered hand, hopes Fernando misses the trembling in his fingers, “welcome back to Madrid.”

”Thank you, I’m really glad to be here.” Fernando’s eyes lock with him for an instant and well, Antoine’s been into the striker before – but what he feels in that split-second where Fernando Torres’ brown eyes stare into his own, it’s beyond a simple crush. The mere moment is enough to make his mouth go dry, his heart starts racing and he hears the rushing of his own blood in his head. It’s probably what love at first sight is all about? It can’t be happening, but apparently, a lot of impossible and inappropriate things are happening lately and so he’s standing there, dumbfounded, completely love-struck, only thought left how much he wants Fernando. Because looking into Fernando’s eyes has felt as if he was looking back into his own soul, seeing all his own insecurities, worries, fears, all the inner loneliness reflected right back.

*

For Antoine, the next months are quite a struggle. Not that the first half of the season has been easy, on the contrary. Antoine, though many don’t realize it, is a reserved person, a private person. And he has a thing for routines, for stability. So changing teams and cities, it’s a challenge for him and it always takes him a lot of effort to settle and find a new circle of friends. But he works his way through these things and managed to do so in Madrid just like he has before. Playing on the same team as Fernando Torres though, that’s a whole new level of crazy, a whole new dimension of trouble.

First, he needs to control his body’s reactions constantly. Because just seeing Fernando makes him weak in the knees and shaky, both of which aren’t exactly desirable if you’re out on the field, trying to score. Then, Fernando messes with his abilities of speaking and socializing, because once the older is around, Antoine is reduced to a stammering little boy, blushing from cheeks to ears. That’s not making his attempts at building up a social net in Madrid any easier. And finally, the yearning for something he cannot have is slowly taking over his free time, turning into an obsession he just can’t seem to turn off. Almost every night, he wakes up soaked in sweat and often rock hard, having had yet another very explicit dream about his teammate. It’s simply not easy to play on a team with someone who has a way of looking at you that makes you feel so vulnerable, exposed and open, because they seem to looking right through all your guards, seem to be reading your thoughts and at the same time, fascinate you to no end.

For a while, he tries distraction. Tries to go out, find someone. Maybe a nice girl this time, someone to take along to parties. Someone to keep him company, to hang out with. He quickly stops his attempts when he slips a heavily panted “Nando” in the bedroom during one of these random nights, the girl almost fleeing afterwards. After all, he’s lucky if she doesn’t tell anyone about the incident and he surely doesn’t want another mishap like that. So he’s still in the same hell, the same world of unrequited love and desire. And the suggestion, or rather the order, to film a commercial for Madrid with some of the others, is not making matters any better. As obviously, Fernando is one of the others.

*

On the day they do their takes, Antoine feels horrible. He’s nauseous and pale and shaky, a true challenge for the makeup crew and the director. When they’ve finally made it through, Fernando – of course it would be Fernando – is walking next to him on the way back to their cars.

”Hey, are you okay?”

Antoine wants the ground to swallow him, because this is over his head, so far over his head. And anyway, how in the world is anyone supposed to get out a complete, coherent sentence when Fernando is looking down at them, with these concerned, friendly eyes and that shy smile and really, Antoine thinks he might be melting into a puddle right here.

”Uh, sure. Sure. Just tired,” he says, voice strained and hands shaking again.

”You look like you’re sick,” Fernando replies, his eyes crinkling with worry now and his hand resting on Antoine’s shoulder. And shit, that feels really, really good and maybe Antoine can never ever move again.

”Yeah, slept bad last night. I just need some rest.”

”Oh, okay,” Fernando doesn’t quite look like he’s buying the excuse. “Why? Are you worried about anything, do you have a problem?”

_Damned. It’s because of you. You, you, you. You’re the problem._

Antoine shrugs and gulps a little.

”Sorry, I didn’t want to impose. Just… I don’t know, you had me a bit worried lately.”

Antoine realizes he hasn’t replied and quickly shakes his head.

”Don’t worry,” he says, forcing a smile on his lips, “Thanks for asking, but I’m really just tired, I think.”

”You know, I could give you a ride? I don’t really want you to pass out while you’re driving and you don’t look like you’d make it home in one piece.”

Fernando quickly averts his eyes, apparently nervous about his own offer which confuses Antoine. And hell, how is he supposed to answer to this? Because it’s a sure thing what his body wants: be as close to Torres for as long as he can. But he’s not sure his brain can keep up with the proximity.

”I – uh-“, he is, once more, stammering around, “if it’s not too much of effort… uh… yeah, yeah, it would be nice.”

”Of course it’s not,” Fernando says, already heading towards his car now, “just get in and tell me the address.”

Antoine feels proud of himself that he actually remembers where he lives. The drive, not even twenty minutes, is a silent one and he forces himself to stare at the road, while his heart is hammering relentlessly and his palms are getting increasingly sweaty.

”That’s it, the blue building over there,” he says eventually and he’s not sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved. Fernando pulls into an empty parking spot right across the street and he’s about to thank him and hop out when, for another of these cursed split-seconds, his eyes meet Fernando’s and he thinks he sees something in them, some spark of hope that reminds him of his own feelings. It’s probably just a hallucination, but it still makes Antoine blurt out either the most stupid or the very best question in his life.

”Want to come up for a coffee?”

For a moment, his world stops turning and the way his heart is thundering, he might be having a heart attack from the stress of waiting for Fernando’s reply, the older apparently considering the offer for a moment.

”Sure, why not?”

_Yeah, why not?_

Antoine barely keeps the smile off his face and leads the way, still terrified by Fernando’s presence, but now also strangely and stupidly hopeful that maybe, just maybe, all of this isn’t as dumb as he thought it was.

Fernando tells him he likes the area, tells him he likes the apartment and then they end up at his kitchen table with two cups of espresso, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, chatting about families and the season and a bit of everything.

”You know, I really like your hair like that.”

The sentence, spoken innocently and with a soft voice, makes Antoine’s head jerk up, his eyes giving Fernando a confused look. Because they’re not at the point of friendship where you’d say these things. Unless someone were flirting, which Fernando can’t be, right? Only… the older has that shy smile around his lips again and he can’t quite look Antoine in the eyes and really, Antoine thinks, really?

”Uh… thank you,” he says, feeling out of his depth here, “I’m glad you do.”

_Well, that wasn’t the most eloquent reply ever, was it?_

Eventually, Fernando does look at him, still smiling, “Are you?” The impossible things keep happening, because now, Fernando’s hand is moving across the table, covering his own and Antoine watches their hands, their fingers, the way Fernando’s thumb rubs over his skin. And well, there’s nothing to misread about that, right?

”Yeah,” he says with a hoarse voice, lacing their fingers.

Now, Fernando smiles properly, widely and it’s a beautiful sight, that genuine happiness on the striker’s face. Antoine just wants to hug him - and suddenly realizes that probably, Fernando wouldn’t mind. But before he can finish his plans for the next actions, Fernando’s other hand is in his hair, pulling him forward and there’s one more of these split-seconds where their gazes lock, unspoken questions asked and answered with almost invisible nods before his lips are against Fernando’s, as if drawn by an invisible force.

_Finally._

And when Antoine wakes up the next morning, naked and curled up against the taller, equally naked man of his dreams, Fernando’s arm possessively around his waist, he has a whole list of ideas of things that he could make a habit in Madrid. Starting with waking up like this. Because really, there’s no way he’s ever giving this up again.

_And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet_  
_Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are_  
_I couldn't help it_  
_It's all your fault_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Head over feet_ , Alanis Morissette


	15. Obey - Dani/Vale [E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen the update in warnings: Non-Con ahead.
> 
> Also, it's come up how I don't ask for prompts on tumblr and that's usually true, because I have more ideas than I can write in a lifetime anyway. But I love experiments and I'm always open to pairing-suggestions (though you might have to wait a bit until I manage to get to it). Also: the scenes in this often are ideas that I wanted to do with more than one pairing and if I find the time, I'll rewrite every single one with Dani/Marc for example. So if you want a specific chapter rewritten for your "OTP", just let me know and I'll try ♥

“Rossi, get over here. Officer Pedrosa has a few more questions for you.”

Vale shivers involuntarily, all muscles going tense afterwards. He has only been here for a couple of days, but he has heard of that man. Nothing of what he’s been told has been good and he’s already rummaging his brain why the officer would want to see him in the first place. He’s not aware of anything he’s done wrong during his time here. Walking over to the guard feels a bit like going to trial again and he doesn’t miss the look on his inmate’s face, somewhere between curiosity and pity. While his hands are secured to his back, he swallows against the lump in his throat and then follows the man down the hallway. He’s taken through a few more hallways, the guard repeatedly unlocking gates and doors, before they’re standing in front of a dark green metal door and the guard knocks against it. If Vale is not mistaken, even the guard’s hand trembles slightly now. It’s not exactly encouraging, he thinks.

”Who is it?” Comes an impatient bark from inside.

”Stoner, Sir, I’m bringing Rossi.” It’s definitely not a good sign when someone makes the voice of their subordinate tremble like this.

”Send him in.”

The guard pushes the door open and motions for him to step into the room and while Vale gets going with a sharp intake of breath, he meets the other’s eyes briefly, seeing a flash of pity in them as well. He wonders if anything can ever prepare you for what’s going to happen between these walls, at least according to the descriptions he’s heard from the other prisoners. He doubts it though and for an instant, he thinks about how it can’t be fair having to go through this just for taking a bit of money from the state. 

”Rossi, huh?” A voice snarls and he sees _him_ , sitting behind a large wooden desk and looking up at him through surprisingly beautiful brown eyes. Nothing, really nothing, about the small man sitting there matches the stories he’s heard. A handsome man, in fact, who wears a white shirt that looks almost tailor-made and a black tie that in all its simplicity must have cost a fortune. It’s the kind Vale would have bought in his better days and he feels inadequate in his slightly ragged jeans and the plain black T-Shirt. Which is a ridiculous thing to feel, to worry about, as he’s not here to chat someone up. He’s here because one of the officers working here likes to fuck the new prisoners, to show them their place and be assured of their loyalty. As simple as that and instead of wondering about his looks and whether or not the other likes what he sees he should be disgusted, terrified or furious.

Sometimes, his brain refuses to be rational though and so he keeps studying the other man’s eyes, gets lost in them for a bit, still thinks they’re too soft for the kind of man he’s facing. He’s a bit stubbly, too, and Vale thinks it suits him. Part of him would like to run his hands over that stubble, then card through that black hair that has this particular ‘not styled at all look’ that takes an hour to fix.

”You know why you’re here?” The other’s lips curve into a small smile, one eyebrow raised and Vale wonders if he’s noticed that he’s been checking him out and gulps.

”No, Sir,” he replies and it’s a blatant lie, but he thinks it’s what he’s supposed to say.

”I don’t believe you,” the man says, folding his arms in front of his chest and leaning back in the office chair. He stares at him for a moment, before the smile is tugging at his lips again and he gets up, a set of keys in his hands. He’s really short, head barely reaching Vale’s shoulder, but he has enough charisma to look a foot taller. A wave of his aftershave reaches Vale’s nose and it smells a bit like sandalwood, surprisingly warm and Vale can’t help but think that he really likes it. Behind his back, he feels his cuffs opened and taken away.

”You’re beautiful,” the other whispers into Vale’s ear and makes him shudder and wonder how the smaller must be on his tiptoes, “absolutely gorgeous. Boys like you shouldn’t be here, you know? This is not a safe place for you.”

When the officer walks back around, he drops the pieces of metal to the desk with a clunk and then makes himself comfortable in the chair again, eyes on Vale. His look is making Vale squirm, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eyes.

”Strip.”

The order takes him back to his place, pulls him out of any daydream he might have been entertaining about that man actually being handsome and nice. And although he knows that he’s not getting out of this, he still doesn’t react one bit.

”Listen, we can do this more or less comfortable for you, but I really think,” the other hums and eyes him, sizes him up, “I really think it would be a waste if we had to resort to, let’s say, drastic measures. Such a waste.”

He’s gone to an all boys’ boarding school, he’s been through worse, he tells himself, but somehow, this doesn’t compare, doesn’t measure up to some bullying and a few sloppy blowjobs that were exchanged for privileges and homework. His hands shake while he removes his shoes and socks and his entire body trembles, forehead covered in cold sweat already, while he opens his jeans and hesitantly sheds his shirt. The smaller is watching him intently, occasionally licking his upper lips and humming approvingly and it’s the absolute worst, Vale thinks, how he’s pathetic enough to actually revel in the other’s apparent interest and admiration. And it’s his worst nightmare how in this situation his boxers are obviously tented once he pushes his jeans down. A gasp from the chair gives away that the officer noted it as well and Vale’s cheeks burn with shame. His fingers simply refuse service, won’t manage to slide those boxers off and he stands there, clumsily toying with the waistband, breaking out in cold sweat and shuddering. 

By the time he’s completely naked, he’s not only feeling overrun with humiliation but also scared to death, because he _knows_ what’s next and he _knows_ how it’s going to feel, remembers his first unlucky attempt at a gay hookup in a bar too well. All his muscles clench involuntarily at the memory and that won’t make this any easier.

”Really amazing… such a wonderful body.” Vale hates himself a little for it, but the obvious awe in the other’s voice makes a wave of warmth spread through his veins, eventually making his cock twitch a bit.

”Get over here, face on the desk and hands on your back.”

The awe is replaced with ice-cold viciousness and the few steps towards the desk feel like walking to his own execution. His knees are shaking while he leans down and he swallows against the lump in his throat, blinks against the tears that want to spring. On his back, his wrists are bound in the cuffs again and his body is trembling, flinching, when the other’s hands touch him, eventually tracing a line down his spine and stopping only an inch from his crack.

”Come and sit in my lap,” he hears the officer’s voice, almost hoarse, can’t believe what he hears, because that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

He obeys though, not by conscious decision but more because his wicked mind seems intent on betraying him, seems to feel drawn towards that man, towards that husky voice and those beautiful, mysterious dark eyes. He straddles him after another unsteady step and it feels exposed, naked, with the other’s pants rubbing against Vale’s bare skin and the way he’s simply lifting his legs over the armrests, steadying him with one surprisingly strong arm.

”You look confused. Maybe this is not what you heard would happen?” The smaller man’s free hand is cupping Vale’s chin, forcing him to look down into those eyes that seem to hold so many secrets. His voice alone is making Vale needy and he’s blushing and nodding when the other continues. “Well, as I said, you’re just too beautiful. I want to savor this.” With that, Vale’s chin is pulled down for a kiss and even if he doesn’t _want_ to, something in the way the officer tastes and licks and nips makes him respond and open up, allowing their tongues to lap at each other, their teeth gritting in the process.

Pedrosa’s stubble scratches against his chin and the other’s smell overwhelms his senses; Vale is losing himself quickly, no longer fully aware of his surroundings. A greedy hand explores his torso, maps his skin, makes him shudder with feathery touches, pinches his nipples until he yelps into the kiss. His hips aren’t obeying him anymore, begin to buck and roll, searching for friction and eventually, the officer stops touching him and pulls back, eyes dilated now.

”It feels like you have something here that I could help you with,” the hoarse voice presses out, one of the slender fingers running over Vale’s shaft, making him squirm and whine in the other man’s hold.

”Just let me,” the officer says, not looking at his face but rather his lap and it almost sounds like he’s genuinely asking for this, needy for this.

He lifts Vale to sit on the edge of the desk, spreads his legs a little too wide, too uncomfortable and he whispers all these sweet nothings about how beautiful Vale is, how good he’ll make him feel, how much he’ll love it, while his fingers keep running up and down the inside of Vale’s thighs, making him tremble and whimper.

When the other leans towards him and swallows him down whole, it’s still a surprise, something Vale wouldn’t have expected, but he’s too far gone, too busy panting and gasping expletives, to even think about this, to process what the other is just doing. All he can tell is that he’s getting the best blowjob in his life at a point where he wants it least and the confusion is overwhelming, the discrepancy between the total ridiculousness, absurdity of the situation and the hot, wonderful feeling in his lap where his cock only wants and craves and yearns for more.

It’s embarrassing how quickly everything is over and it’s breathtaking and unexpected how the small officer not only manages to deepthroat with ease but also swallows everything without spilling a drop. Vale is high on his afterglow, body still shaking through the last waves of pleasure and vision blurry when the other man gets up, presses their bodies close and kisses him, devours him. Vale tastes himself on these lush lips and whines pathetically, the fabric of the other man’s pants rough against his oversensitive skin.

”Okay, you have two options,” the other says when he backs away, eyes trained on Vale and holding his gaze without as much as blinking, “either I let you dress, cuff you and send you back to the others, where you will tell them you went through the same initiation as everybody else and the two of us will pretend _this never happened. In six months, you’re out of here and never remember me again. Or… if you’ve got the courage, you stay right here and bend over that desk and then, once I’ve marked my new territory, I’ll have you sent to a solitary cell where you’ll receive me as your visitor, each night, for the next three months – and then you’re free to go.”_

There’s only one reasonable thing to do, only one choice to make. Vale holds the other’s gaze, loses himself in two brown eyes that are framed by lashes that are sinfully long and he feels his brain disconnect from his body, feels his knees and legs act up against better knowledge. Still drawn by an invisible force, by something in these eyes unable to disobey that husky voice, he finds himself face down on the wooden desk, coherent thinking somehow wiped from his brain.

”Good choice,” the voice whispers into his ears, making him fall apart again, “very good choice, my beautiful boy.”

_Come crawling faster_  
_Obey your master_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Master of puppets_ , Metallica


	16. Pride - Sebastian/Nico [E]

He likes the young man’s posture, likes the way he’s holding his head high, even under these circumstances. Sebastian sighs, eyes darting through the room, feeling slightly uncomfortable here, out of place. He hasn’t been to these establishments much before, but once your boss asks you to join the team on their night out you don’t say no. You don’t refuse. You play along. So now, he’s here and squirming a bit and his eyes can’t seem to evade this boy, the tall, blonde one with a perfect physique. Thought that’s really not what catches Sebastian’s attention. He’s more drawn to the blue eyes that seem so confident, so piercing, challenging. Even if the man is bound, hands high above his head and legs spread and attached firmly to the ground with metal shackles. Even if he’s on display, only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs and a black collar. His eyes still look like he’s the secret owner of everything here and Sebastian is drawn to them by an invisible force. There’s just so much pride in his expression, his body language, it’s simply amazing. Sebastian wishes he had a tenth of that.

”You could just buy him, you know?” Kimi, a normally rather quiet coworker from the accounting department whispers into his ear, wave of vodka-smell reaching his nose and Sebastian looks at the man again, contemplates. He could. It would be so simple. But it’s nothing Sebastian does. He doesn’t exploit other people, doesn’t use this system of dominants and submissives that some patriarchs established. He doesn’t believe in inequality. Or people of different worth. But this man. He’s tempting him. And going by his eyes, still challenging him. 

Feeling pulled in by the sheer look of the other’s eyes, he steps closer to the man, close enough to smell him, faint scent of soap and a hint of aftershave. His fingers trace over that perfectly sculpted torso, trace lean muscles and circle nipples, ghost over faded scars and a few bruises of different shades, different age. The man beneath him doesn’t even flinch and Sebastian marvels the smooth skin, of course without a single hair.

”Sir, would you like to have a night with him?”

A small man in a black suit approaches him, asking ever so politely and Sebastian would and should decline politely. But these blue eyes… he can’t stop looking into them and right now, they look… almost hopeful?

”Yeah, yeah, I’d love to,” he sees a small smile flash up on the other’s face before going back to his emotionless state and Sebastian takes out a stack of bills, hands them to the old man carelessly.

”Is that sufficient?” He asks, feeling impatient now that he knows this is happening for real, eyes never leaving his newest toy’s face.

”Oh, yes Mister Vettel, that is a very generous offer. Let me show you the way to one of our best suites, I’m sure you’ll like it. It comes with a well-stocked playroom, too.”

Sebastian shrugs, that part of the suite won’t be needed tonight. All he cares about is the bed, really, and if he had to, he’d have this man on the floor, too.

The old, small man opens the locks, cuffing the other man’s hands behind his back immediately again and chaining his ankles to each other. He puts a leash through the small leather collar and hands it to Sebastian, who stands there dumbfounded for a moment. Everything inside him wants to recoil, run away. A leash on another human just seems so wrong. His fingers tremble when he takes the leather, following the old man through the hallways.

They soon arrive into an admittedly gorgeous suite and the older leaves them to themselves, handing Sebastian the keys to the cuffs on his way out.

”You made a good choice there, Sir, you’ll enjoy your night a lot, I think. And if, which I doubt, the slave shouldn’t live up to your expectations, you can always exchange him. Just give us a call.”

With that, he’s gone and Sebastian feels overwhelmed, alone here with a slave. His slave. He doesn’t even know where to start, so he just goes and takes away the leash and the cuffs, feeling a bit better now about this.

”I- I’m sorry, I’m new to this. I think I just… don’t really know what to do.”

This is so embarrassing, he thinks, and so wrong, too. But when he looks into the other man’s face, he’s getting a warm smile in return, blue eyes looking content. And then he knows why he isn’t getting a reply.

”You may speak,” he says, his own voice unsteady, not used to giving commands or orders.

”We can start with whatever brings you pleasure, master.”

That’s not really a helpful answer, Sebastian thinks. He lets his eyes travel over that perfect body once again, considering his options for a moment. Finally, he concludes that as they’re here and society’s an unfair mess either way, he might as well let both of them enjoy it. He loosens his tie, or tries to, his hands shaking helplessly.

”May I, master?”

”Sure,” he croaks and the man swiftly loosens the knot and puts the piece of silk neatly onto the bedside drawer. When Sebastian doesn’t protest, he gets courageous, undresses him. The jacket slides off easily and then he’s opening the shirt, button by button, fingers occasionally brushing over Sebastian’s bare skin, making him shiver. He helps toeing off his shoes and socks, steps out of his pants, briefly eyes the belt which the man hasn’t put away but laid out on the bedside drawer in silent invitation.

He reaches out with shaky fingers, exploring the other’s body once again. His fingers get tangled in the other’s blond hair, run through it repeatedly, while he presses their chests against each other, reveling in the other’s body heat. Eventually, he starts getting rid of the man’s boxers, almost gasping at the beautiful, thick and already hard cock that’s been hiding underneath. He lets his own underwear follow, freeing his throbbing cock from its restraint and then they’re both standing there, completely naked with their eyes locked intently.

”I think,” Sebastian brings out with a sudden rush of adrenaline making him confident all over sudden and his voice hoarse with desire, “for now I just want to watch what gives you pleasure.”

He relaxes into a comfortable armchair, motions for the other to get on the bed and gives himself a few lazy strokes while he watches that perfect body arrange into position.

The blonde sits back against the headboard, legs wide open and begins stroking himself, slowly and languidly at first. Sebastian searches for his gaze, flashed when their eyes finally meet and the other’s blue eyes meet his with that same pride that caught his attention in the auction room. The other teases and puts on an expert show, while Sebastian growls and tries to match his own strokes to the ones he sees. It takes a while before the other’s eyes start closing, his head falling back, showing a beautiful neckline. 

Sebastian isn’t sure about rules and regulations and so he thinks he needs to clarify.

”I want to see you come,” he says breathlessly, “Come for me, babe.”

Apparently, the endearment is what does it, the slave releasing a strangled cry before he spills his load over his hand. When he licks his own fingers clean immediately and without any hesitation, Sebastian is gone, stumbling over the edge with a string of expletives echoing through the room. 

The other, this time without an order, comes crawling up to him right away, licks him clean. His stubble scratches against the inside of Sebastian’s thighs and his hands clutch to the blonde hair, while he whimpers pathetically from the overstimulation of that skilled tongue against his oversensitive cock.

Once the other has finished his task, he gracefully sits back on his heels, kneeling obediently but still with a proud posture and eyes Sebastian expectantly.

”That was wonderful,” Sebastian mumbles, hands running through the perfect blonde streaks again. Then, he remembers something important. “What’s your name, slave?”

”Nico, master.”

”Okay, Nico, that was a perfect beginning. I think we’ll really have a great night together.”

Sebastian could swear that there’s once again a small smile on the other man’s face. On _Nico’s_ face.

 _Well I lost my innocence when in I let him dive_  
_But the way that he looked at me_  
_Made me feel alive_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As it seems_ , Lily Kershaw


	17. Questions - Vale/Jorge [M]

Vale is growing tired of the questions, he really is. After all these years, interviews and press conferences are mostly a nuisance, something to sit through and wait for it to end. Of course, he has a reputation to maintain and he’ll try to stay the good-natured, always funny boy that he was twenty years ago, but it’s not getting easier. And the constant repetitions of the same old things. Shaking his head, he makes his way to the familiar motorhome. He doesn’t even remember how many times he’s been asked about his relationship with Jorge and how it’s changed this season, with his return to Yamaha and everything. As if there’s ever been much to tell. The supposed war between them, that’s been such a media-generated mess and in the end, their press officers only jumped the bandwagon because it seemed like it was the story the fans wanted to hear about. Walls at Yamaha. Vale shrugs. Sure, they’re opponents and friendships look different, but still, all these things people read into it… it’s ridiculous. They’ve always been nothing but respectful and what he’s doing now, letting himself into Jorge’s motorhome to switch mixed up hoodies, they could have done this, it’s not that unusual.

”Jorge? Are you there? I’ve brought your hoodie, I think you must have taken mine.”

He stands in the hallway, slightly puzzled, because at this time, an hour before the conference, Jorge should be here. The faint sound of the shower catches his attention and okay, he’ll just drop Jorge’s hoodie on the bed then and come back later. 

He’s about to yell something about his plans when he stops in his tracks, new sounds ringing in his ears. It seems like Jorge is groaning? Growling? Maybe he’s hurt himself? Vale opens his mouth to ask, when something else occurs to him. _Jorge wouldn’t…?_

The reasonable thing to do now would be to turn around and leave. Only, Valentino Rossi has lots of qualities, but reasonable isn’t usually one of them. So he keeps walking, steps into the bedroom, excited to find the bathroom door wide open. And really, what is he thinking? But somehow, he’s just drawn towards the scene and the little noises Jorge makes, those small moans and groans.

Feeling at a somewhat safe distance, he sits down on Jorge’s bed, his eyes focusing on the naked man in the shower who is unaware of Vale’s presence. Jorge is facing the shower wall, forehead and one arm braced against the tiles – and his other hand moving around his cock.

Valentino feels his mouth go dry, hears his brain shouting at him to get his act together and leave, but he’s suddenly glued to the mattress, his eyes widening and his own cock twitching in his jeans. Because – and Vale has never ever thought that about another man – Jorge looks beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, water streaming down his back, muscles in his shoulders flexing while his hand moves between his legs, strokes seemingly slow and savoring. 

Vale’s pants are too tight now and he’s chewing his bottom lip helplessly, trying to not make any sounds. Under the shower, he can hear Jorge’s moans getting louder, more wanton, more tense. He’s also increasing his pace and damned, Vale really needs to get out of here, now. Just a few more seconds he keeps telling himself, mesmerized by Jorge’s bicep’s movements and twitching and the needy sounds from the shower hold him captivated, don’t allow him to leave.

”Si… más,” he hears, more panted than spoken and it makes heat pool in his lap, He already has a hand in his mouth, biting down to stifle the moan that wants out. When he sees Jorge’s body convulse suddenly, back arching and head falling back with a loud grunt, Vale finally comes to his senses. At least, he’s conscious enough now to get back on his feet and stumble out towards his own motorhome. Where he locks himself in the bathroom and brings himself to orgasm in a matter of minutes.

The realization of what he’s done hits him once he’s cleaned up, picking a fresh pair of boxers. Not only has he spied on Jorge, he intruded on Jorge in his most private moments. And he watched, like a cheap stalker, like some psychotic fangirl. And as if that wasn’t enough, he just jerked off to images of Jorge masturbating in a shower. _What the fuck?_

He’s about to smash his head into the wall with frustration when Uccio calls for him, telling him they need to get going. His dislike for press conferences has never been stronger than in this very moment. And he'd actually need a conference with himself now, answering all these scary questions that are raging in his head. Like have I turned gay overnight? Do I have a thing for my teammate? Did someone drug me? Am I dreaming? Is there a hidden camera somewhere?

While they walk up to the media room, he’s much more quiet than usual, trying to erase all the inappropriate images and thoughts from his head and still working out how to face Jorge. And of course, because this isn’t awkward enough, they’ve got seats next to another. If he was by himself, he’d love to growl in frustration.

Vale stares at his hands until it starts, until the questions are fired, once again. About his age, his experience, his lead in the championship and the tenth title. At least, nothing about Jorge yet. He eyes the back of the wall, sternly avoiding Jorge’s gaze and feeling squirmy and uncomfortable so close to his teammate. Eventually, attention shifts to Dani and his injury and Vale takes a grateful, deep breath. Until a finger pokes his ribs.

Confused, he looks down, sees a little note that Jorge has scribbled onto the back of some schedule for him. It’s probably the first time, that the world witnesses an absolutely speechless Valentino Rossi, who on top of that, has a face the color of lobster now and can’t stop staring at the quickly written words.

_Enjoyed the show you saw earlier? Next time just say something, I would have asked you to join me. See you later? You still have to pick up your hoodie at mine…_

_He said, 'If you dare, come a little bit closer.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Stay_ , Rihanna


	18. Rules - Alex/Dani [M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being AWOL a lot right now. More "Come Home" tomorrow, request will take a bit (I haven't forgotten, I'm just busy and constantly tired :( .)

Alex has always been proud that he had rules. A whole set of them, designed as boundaries. Because the job is just that, a job, to make money and finance his studies and as long as he sticks to the rules, it’s all just professional and clean and somehow sterile.

No kissing. It’s a standard rule, one he’s not the only boy adhering to. Clients can fuck him or he’ll blow them and he’d be the last to oppose role reversal. But no kissing. Except… this one… he’s just leaning up as it’s the most natural thing to do, his hands around Alex’s neck already, cotton of his expensive shirt against Alex’s already bare chest and abs. And that pout, aimed towards him, a set of dark brown eyes staring at him demandingly.

Alex loses his mind a bit over these eyes. Because they’re dark, demanding and still somehow tinged with sadness. Eventually, his mind still sorting out the possible reasons for an obviously successful business man firstly needing Alex’s services and secondly looking like a lost kitty somehow, Alex realizes that their lips are already against each other’s, that he’s already tasting the other, hints of cigarettes and expensive whiskey in his mouth. His hands are fisted in the fabric of a shirt he couldn’t afford in a lifetime and his eyes have shut involuntarily and he’s enjoying this, as forbidden as it may be.

No cuddling. It’s another one of his rules. Alex sells sex and satisfaction, not love or comfort. Except… he’s now sprawled on the bed, his wrists held in place above his head, while the other kisses his neck and strokes over his torso with his free hand, fingers being too gentle, too kind for Alex’s usual encounters. Still, he can’t mind, can’t speak up. Isn’t even sure he wants to, most likely doesn’t. A soft moan falls from his lips, almost subconsciously. And he’s most definitely aroused by this. Shivers wash over him as a fingers hover over his ribs, travel down his side, explore the inside of this thighs. Maybe it’s not cuddling… maybe it’s still ordinary foreplay, Alex tells himself – though he knows he’s lying.

The smaller man undresses methodically, quickly, once he stops his ministrations. Alex is left gasping for air, needy. He’s greedy for that man, who’s now standing there in all his surprisingly well-trained glory, tanned skin glowing in the light of an exclusive night lamp. He’s watching Alex, looks pensive for a moment, before he kneels on the bed again, reaching for supplies from the nightstand already. The other kisses him senseless while he opens him – gently – and he’s drawing sounds from Alex that Alex wasn’t aware he could make. By the time the man breaches him, Alex is mewling with need, high pitched whines filling the room.

Alex doesn’t usually come from being fucked alone, but nothing about this night has been usual so far. His orgasm is more intense than any he’s had so far – and that says something for someone who normally has more than a couple of these moments a night. Now, he knows what being fucked into oblivion refers to, knows how it feels to forget his own name over pleasure. When he finally resurfaces from his afterglow, the smaller man is lying on his side, head propped up and smiling at him. It almost kills him, that smile. So sweet, unguarded. Calloused fingers run over his jaw and Alex relaxes into the touch, half-closes his eyes. He doesn’t think anyone, client or not, has ever looked at him like this.

No sleepovers. One of this most fundamental lines. But the man eventually leads him to the shower, wordlessly. Washes him – which feels incredibly good and the wrong way around at the same time. Goes down on him and makes him forget his own name again, there and then, back against the cold shower tiles, water running over his closed eyes, knees giving in. Then, he’s washed again before being wrapped in a towel and led back to bed… and he doesn’t even consider getting up. The man doesn’t ask him, only pulls the covers over them and turns off the light. Before falling asleep, Alex feels a kiss against his temple.

No regulars. It’s a more unusual rule, this one. But Alex always sticks to it, because he fears attachment, doesn’t want anything to become blurred. Regular clients would feel like a paid relationship and that’s something Alex wouldn’t want to end up with. Way too close to feelings. Which he thinks he cannot allow himself, not in this job. Then the other is standing there, after mindblowing morning sex and another sensual shower, smelling fresh and looking perfect in his suit, with the damp hair and the stray streaks in his face. He’s holding out the money, which Alex takes and for the first time, taking money feels wrong. Makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

”So, I can hire you again over the agency?”

Alex gulps. This is where he has to politely decline.

”Of course you can.”

Alex hears himself speak, his own voice unfamiliar and he can’t even believe he just did that. His brain just isn't functioning right, doesn't process his thoughts correctly. He hears his own pulse thundering in his head, suddenly feels dizzy. Leans with his shoulder against the wall and - to his own horror - anchors himself with a hand against the smaller man's waist. Holding on too tightly.

No names. It’s the rule of rules. He goes by Bambi, always. He never asks his clients and does his best to overhear them should they mention anything. The shorter man pulls him down for a kiss before leaving the hotel room, tastes like peppermint now.

”I’m Dani, by the way. What’s your name, bambi?”

Alex stares into the dark brown eyes again, wishes he could decipher the reason for the sadness in the other’s look. _I’m sorry, Marc._ That’s what the other had whispered, this morning, before waking Alex and Alex would give a lot to find out who Marc is and what he’s done. For now, he’s totally lost in the man’s – Dani’s- dark eyes, incapable to look away.

”Alex. My real name is Alex.”

_aunque esta noche..._  
_sea sólo unos billetes para ti._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Con nombre de guerra_ , Heroes del Silencio


	19. Secrets - Vale/Casey [M]

_And if you have a minute why don’t we go_  
_Talk about it somewhere only we know?_

Of course, Vale has heard that he would be around. Not a new thing, he concedes, it’s not like he’s not somewhat of a regular visitor, even after his retirement. So he doesn’t think about it very much, doesn’t really care. They’ve managed to avoid each other really well those last years, with no real arguments or discussions happening. And then, it’s never quite been as bad as the media tried to make it. At least, that’s how Vale sees it. He’s not sure Casey would agree. Either way, Vale doesn’t pay much attention to his nemesis being around, not even with the rumors about Casey replacing Dani for a few races. Not until they’re facing each other in the paddock, on Thursday, only the two of them. No one else. And suddenly, he’s standing there, blinking behind the dark shades on his nose, and all the feelings that he thought he’d long lost, they’re back full force.

”Hi,” Casey holds his hands out and smiles, warmly. The media would have a feast over this, Vale thinks, as he takes the sunglasses off and returns the handshake.

”Hi Casey,” he replies, his voice not half as confident as he would have wanted it to be.

His mouth is going dry and his mind has long gone blank, as the Italian has no idea what to say. What, against his own expectation, he does have all over sudden, is flashbacks of memories popping up, images of him and Casey, heated arguments, angry glares – and fiery kisses. Pressing Casey up against the walls of his motorhome, devouring him. Vale still remembers how the other tastes, after a race, like champagne and salt and peppermint. He remembers the feeling of Casey’s skin under his fingers, the way Casey would shudder when Vale’s hands ran down his sides. The high-pitched little whines he makes when he’s close to coming. His eyes fluttering close, his face tense and then the moment of climax, where Vale would see him unravel, unguarded and then finally, relaxed. Casey could kiss beautifully, sweetly, painfully gently, afterwards. And look stunning in the morning, like a sleeping child, innocent and vulnerable. It’s a flood of memories, washing over him in a single moment and he has no idea why it’s happening now. Why it’s not happened before. 

”Uh… congrats, you’re having a great season.”

”Thank you?” Vale isn’t sure how to react, isn’t sure where this is going. Talking to each other isn’t exactly their strong point after all. “I hear you’re coming back?”

”Just rumors,” Casey shakes his head and smiles again and yeah, Vale thinks, he hasn’t lost any of his charm yet.

”Remember that old gas station they have here, the one with the little administration building next to it?” Vale asks with a small cough, knowing that he’s doing something incredibly stupid, well aware that he’s heading straight to hell. “I think it’s still deserted.”

Casey’s eyes widen for an instant and Vale can see him think about it. Part of him hopes Casey will just laugh it off and walk away. Part of him prays he won’t.

”Want to go there, huh?”

”We should, right? For old times’ sake?” Vale would want himself to sound a bit more sure.

”Yeah, we’re probably the only ones who still know about the place? Let’s go check, I’m sure the building’s still there.”

They walk silently. And in step, a fact Vale tries not to read too much into. His heart is beating too fast and too loud. Overall, he’s just too nervous, worried, excited right now and no longer capable to think straight at all, because who could? With all the anticipation? The knowledge of what exactly they’ll end up doing there? When they’re sneaking into the deserted building through the rusty metal doors, Vale couldn’t say if they’d been walking for minutes or hours. Or if they’d passed anyone. The building though, it hasn’t changed over the past years, which he wouldn’t have expected anyway.

”So, are we talking?” Casey asks, leaning against the desk. Vale thinks he’s looking too smug. “Or fucking?”

The Italian splutters, opens and closes his mouth a few times without a single word coming out.

”Too direct?” Casey leans back and looks up at him, smirk clearly written over his face.

Vale is not one hundred percent sure if this is real, if the offer is real, or if he’s being played. But he _wants_ it to be, badly. His whole body yearns already, craves. Wants to give in and hand himself over to the only person who’s ever manage to throw him off kilter in this particular way. Relentless. Like a whirlwind. Or rather a tornado.

”Vale, you’ve got to help me out here a bit,” Casey says eventually, still smiling, but maybe a little less confident.

He freezes for an instant, realizing the dimension of his next action. The extent of his decision. In the end though, he’s never been able to resist Casey. Not once. So he leans down, lips brushing over the Australians, arms wrapping around the younger almost greedily.

Casey returns the favor and pulls him in, slender arms around Vale’s waist. One of Casey’s fingers finds its way under Vale’s hoodie, traces his hipbone. It’s the touch that makes everything real, that makes everything urgent. It’s burning and tempting and so damned familiar.

”I miss you,” Vale whispers, realizing that he sounds almost desperate and again, not even caring. Because this is Casey, _his_ Casey and he doesn’t want to let go. He never wanted that to begin with. And yeah, he understands. That it’s easier, this way, with a girl and a family. Safer. Less complicated. He knows they would never have worked out, but that’s never been a consolation before and it’s not now. He’s kissing Casey, with tears prickling behind his closed eyes, with his nails clawing in Casey’s skin tight enough to draw blood. The kiss goes from passionate to fiery to violent, with more teeth and blood than necessary and their mutual groans fill the dim and dusty room. Eager, impatient fingers scrape over skin while they clumsily open belts and jeans and no, they don’t bother taking their shirts off, pants pooling around their ankles.

Vale complies without hesitation when Casey turns him around, bends him over the table. Casey, of course, knows what he likes. That rough is his favorite. And Casey doesn’t disappoint, biting down on his neck while a spit-slicked finger pushes inside him, slow but relentless. Vale growls, pain shooting through his body, but he pushes back against the intrusion at the same time, wordlessly begging for more. His leaking, aching cock is trapped between his body and the wood of the desk and he wants more, always more.

”God, you’re still so beautiful. And your hair. I’m so glad it’s long again.”

Casey keeps talking, babbling, while he opens him, mumbles things about how Vale looks and smells good and sweet little nothings. Vale can’t process the words anymore anyway, with Casey now buried inside him to the hilt, he is too caught up in need and want, only urges Casey for more, occasionally begs him to move. Arches his back and bucks his hips to meet the other’s thrusts. When he comes, it’s without Casey even touching him and Casey follows him after a few sharp thrusts.

They collapse right there, breathing heavily, Casey still on top of him. They’re sticky and sweaty and maybe he should worry about how he’ll explain his look, the stains on his hoodie, to his team. Not yet though, with his afterglow still allowing him to float peacefully on a cloud, in a parallel universe where Casey never left and the world never cared about celebrity’s sexual preferences.

”I miss you, too, by the way,” Casey says after a while and Vale can hear the smile in his voice. The real smile, the open, sweet, gentle smile. And no, they’ve definitely never been what the media tried to make of them. These moments are the ones they’ve not shared with the public, are among the few things in their lives only they know about.

_So why don’t we go_  
_Somewhere only we know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Somewhere only we know_ , Keane (or cover by Lily Allen ;) )


	20. Trapped - Mark/Sebastian [T]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martian ♥ Back to the roots :)

They haven’t really talked all season – and that’s more than a little strange. It’s freaking him out, at least if he’s honest. Every once in a while, he stumbles on those fanpages, the crazier ones, where they follow his every step and basically seem only after pictures of him and Fernando standing close to each other. He wonders if they have a clue how wrong they are. How terribly, terribly wrong. Not that he doesn’t like Nando. The Spaniard is nice and fun to hang out with, they’re friends. Or at least as friendly as Mark thinks is possible, among drivers. Though being friendly is easier now that they’re not fighting each other anymore.

But attraction? Not there. Not in the way these sites want to imagine it. And Fernando being a _man_ is not even the issue there. Mark has always been flexible when it comes to these things. The Spaniard however, is the wrong man. Because in that respect, Mark’s heart is taken already. Has been for years. A decade of secret pining, of lusting after a boy, of being ashamed of his desires and his needs.

It’s been one of the reasons he left, maybe the most important one. Wanting something you cannot have that’s posing in front of your face, directly, all the time, it becomes unbearable over time. They thought he was bitter about losing, was jealous of Sebastian’s titles. And that’s not even close to the truth. The simple, painful truth where Mark is bitter about being too old, devastated of his not-vanishing feelings towards his teammate and jealous of the blonde woman and the daughter in the younger man’s life.

It’s never even been about Multi21. He left F1 to get over him, to be free for someone new. To finally stop being ashamed of himself, because he’s always been a bit disgusted about his desire for the man that he’d met as a boy and watched grow up. So much about the plan. Things went… well… different. Sure, he’s dealing well with life, Porsche is awesome. The dogs are great. Everything is moving nicely – except the feelings are still there. Resurface every time he spots the German on a cover – and that’s not exactly a rare happening.

And this year, they’ve barely even met. Or talked. All he knows about Seb’s life, he read in papers or magazine. That’s the worst, his biggest regret, that his pride and his own idiocy have kept him from befriending the boy, from establishing at least a casual friendship that would allow them to text or call every once in a while, even now that Mark’s gone.

They’re at least at the same event tonight though. The thought almost makes him giddy, certainly makes him nervous. Ridiculously, he even takes an extra moment to check that his hair is fine and his suit is in shape. On his way to the elevator, he shakes his head, chuckling about himself, about the way Seb always makes him behave like a teenager. He presses the button to the ground floor and leans against the wall, still laughing quietly about himself. Really, what is he thinking?

The elevator stops on its way, opens for someone new. Mark at first only sees his shoes and the dress pants, black, accurately ironed.

”Hi,” a friendly and very familiar voice says, making Mark’s head jerk up.

Still, even more than a year after their last race together, Sebastian’s smile makes Mark do that little somersault thing. And the Australian is glad he was leaning against the wall anyway because his knees are threatening to give in.

”Sebastian.”

He should probably say something, congratulate him for a great debut season with Ferrari or something like that. But as it is, Mark’s brain refuses to come up with anything coherent. So he stands there in silence, aware that he’s only giving Sebastian more reasons to think that he’s arrogant and ignoring the younger on purpose. It’s a goddamned vicious circle and it just won’t stop.

He’s still working on finding something to say when a loud rumble goes through the elevator, sounds of metal creaking loudly around them. The main light flickers and then goes off completely, only a small emergency lighting there. _And great. That’s like… the worst possible thing ever._ If he was alone, he’d be cursing and slamming his hands again the wall. Since he’s not, he leaves it with an impatient growl and starts pressing the emergency button. A voice tells him they’ll fix things soon and that he shouldn’t worry. When he asks about whether they’ll be out on time for the dinner, he doesn’t really get a good reply.

It’s when the voice has gone and he has – for maybe the tenth time – confirmed that he has neither data service nor wifi on his phone, that he remembers Sebastian. When he looks over to check on the younger, he finds him slouched on the floor, arms around his knees and shaking. _Don’t tell me you’re afraid… not you, right?_

”Hey, you’re okay there mate?” Mark kneels down in front of the other, but the light isn’t good enough to judge whether he’s fine ore not.

”Yeah,” Sebastian says, but the way his voice is shaking gives away the lie.

”You heard what they said, we’ll be out here in no time.”

”Uh-huh, yeah. Heard it.”

Sebastian’s breathing sounds labored. Too fast. _Damned._

”Hey, calm, okay?”

Mark feels helpless, so very helpless. He tentatively puts a hand on Seb’s arm, the light touch enough to make his own stomach flutter.

”Sorry-“ Sebastian sounds strained, “it’s just… the close space…”

_Figured that much, mate._

Mark wants to help and really has no clue how. He ends up sitting down next to Sebastian, back against the wall, an arm around Sebastian’s shoulder and whispering calming nonsense. He can’t be blamed though, with Sebastian so close, his scent in Mark’s nose, his body against Mark’s, the Australian’s brain is short-circuiting.

He prays and hopes and begs for them to get that elevator fixed quickly. Because he feels like he can’t guarantee for anything right now, could give away his best kept secret. Time is a sturdy opponent though, refusing to pass almost completely. Sebastian seems calmer but still far from okay and Mark starts counting down from 100 to stop his thoughts to drift into unsafe areas. Where they’re just as close but much less dressed.

He’s reached 46 when Sebastian’s whisper breaks the silence.

”It’s nice in your arms.”

Mark thinks his heart just stopped beating. Maybe he’s fantasizing?

”It’s funny, you know?” Sebastian continues, followed by an almost manic giggle.

”What is?” Mark coughs, wills his voice to stay firm.

”For years, all I would have wanted was to be in your arms. And you left and I thought my chance was gone. Forever. And now I’m here. In your arms, where I wanted to be. Because of an elevator. A fucking elevator of all things. I hate elevators. Did I ever tell you that I hate elevators? They’re too small. And they can get stuck. And I really hate elevators, Mark.”

Sebastian’s rambling would have been cute in other circumstances. Here and now, Mark doesn’t hear most of it, his head stuck on _where I wanted to be_.

”You wanted-“ He tries, but can’t get the words out.

”Shit, yeah,” Sebastian sounds breathless. “Sure I did. I gave you all the signals. But you’re so damned straight, you didn’t even notice how I was hitting on you. Or trying to impress you. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you. You’re not into guys, that’s okay. But Mark, it was so torturous, being around you all the time. You’re so hot and I really want you. But don’t worry, I know you’re not interested and I won’t try anything and sorry if I tell you all of this now, but it seems I can’t stop and I-“

_I really want you_ The words echo in Mark’s head and cover anything else Sebastian might be saying now. _I really want you._ Mark takes a deep breath. Maybe this is a dream? Maybe he’ll wake up any second? Maybe Sebastian is only rambling stupid things because he’s terrified? Maybe this is the worst idea he’s ever had?

With a single, smooth move he straddles the German, hands flat against the wall, next to the boy’s head - and no, Mark won’t stop thinking of him as the boy anytime soon. Their faces are right in front of each other and Sebastian is still talking and Mark briefly shakes his head, softly chuckling about the surreal situation and the madness of it all, before he silences Sebastian. With a kiss. A proper, mouth to mouth kiss.

A kiss that’s definitely reciprocated. And deepened, by Sebastian’s initiative. Their tongues battle for upper hand and their teeth grit, while he feels Sebastian grab fistfuls of his shirt. When their crotches rub against each other, Mark can’t miss that the German is _excited_ to be here now.

And maybe, that kiss wasn’t the worst but the best idea he’s ever had.

_How long will I want you?_  
_As long as you want me to_  
_And longer by far._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _How long will I love you?_ , Ellie Goulding or the Waterboys :)


	21. Used - Marc/Vale [E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask me to fix it. I don't really want to, sorry. ♥

They must have had one too many. Or actually, a few too many, Vale thinks, because it’s the only explanation for him pulling along the younger, stumbling giddily through the hotel hallway and bumping into walls in an attempt to reach his room. Together. Usually, there’d be a whole concert of warning sounds and voices in the back of his head now that would remind him of Linda, his reputation, hooking up with friends, drinking during race weekends. You name the fault and it’s right here. And he’s still pulling him along and they’re still stumbling into Vale’s room together and they still end up with the minibar open, all care thrown aside and all alarms in the Italian’s head blissfully appeased by the haze of alcohol.

”And you really took Biaggi’s keycard and his clothes? And he had to go back to the front desk in a towel?” Marc is laughing, the sound that most people find so disturbing and that’s been music to Vale’s ears all these years. Secretly, of course. But now… Vale gulps, eyes mesmerized by a giggling Marcquez spread on his hotel bed. His shirt has ridden up a bit, stripe of tan midriff visible above the waist of a tight pair of dark jeans and Vale can’t take his eyes off of it, the beginning of navel visible. 

The giggling stops suddenly, followed by a cough and Vale’s eyes jerk up, meeting Marc’s. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Marc’s eyes are darker than normal. Widened. Hungry.

”See anything you like there,” the younger says and really, his voice sounds hoarse. Vale feels a bulge growing under his jeans, traitorous, obvious, possibly ruining the best on track friendship he’s ever had. Marc sits up now, cocking his head to the side. “Because… if you saw anything you find interesting… there might be… more.”

The younger slowly takes the shirt off and Vale sees it happen in slow motion, his mouth impossibly dry and his pants definitely too tight now. _Can’t be happening. Must be a dream. You don’t do this. You’re straight._ Though to be honest, that’s what Marc could be thinking as well. 

”I- “ Vale starts and then realizes he doesn’t remember how to form words. Leave alone sentences. 

”Don’t talk, just come here,” Marc holds a hand down that Vale takes on autopilot, feeling himself pulled down to the mattress. “And take that off.”

Marc’s hands move under his sweater, pushing it over his head. Vale’s brain is short-circuiting because Marc Marquez’s fingers are on his chest and abs and damned, they feel perfect and they make him shudder so badly. He lets Marc undress him, the younger doing the task methodically but not hastily, occasional stopping to kiss his skin. It’s driving Vale crazy and he’s already bucking his hips when Marc shoves down his boxers. His own fingers are mostly useless, barely find the button to Marc’s jeans. The younger strips them himself with a chuckle and then pounces right onto him, their lips smashed together.

When your secret desires come out into the open after years of denial, that’s an intense moment. One that pulls you off kilter and takes away your breath. It also makes it impossible to think straight, as all of your thoughts are suddenly lost in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between lust, happiness and the unmeasurable fear of the inevitable loss. Vale is reduced to feeling, be it the heat of Marc’s body against his, the softness of the younger man’s skin or the firmness of muscles where he’s used to softer features. His hands roam restlessly, exploring every inch he can get to and Marc makes these sounds, these soft little moans, that go straight to his dick and make him fall apart even faster. The whole thing is messy and sloppy with kisses that are too wet and too uncoordinated after too many drinks, but that still feel like the hottest kisses Vale has ever exchanged with anyone. And no, he hasn’t been with a man before, doesn’t know if Marc has, but if this is what you get for acting on instinct only, their cocks sliding against each other between their stomachs and their joint hands around them, then Vale doesn’t mind one bit. Because it’s glorious and that’s all he thinks before the world explodes into fireworks. There’s a cry echoing in the room and it takes him a moment to understand that he made that sound, while over him, Marc comes with a much quieter, drawn out moan.

Vale tries to catch his breath and tries to get a grip of the situation. For now, it’s paradise. Blissful. Marc collapsed on top of him, in his arm, breathing heavily and looking so very content. Vale thinks it should always be like this on race weekends. On all weekends. Maybe even more often. Marc feels perfect in his arms, fits perfectly. Better than Linda… whom he needs to tell. Soon. This isn’t fair to her, right? Maybe it never has been. But then Vale never thought _this_ would be a possibility and so he never felt guilty for taking the second-best thing in the world. Now though… the best is on offer. Right here. In his arms.

He draws a few lazy circles on Marc’s back with his fingers and feels his eyes drift close, the alcohol and exhaustion taking their toll and they really should sleep now, there will be a press conference tomorrow after all.

”We need to sleep,” he mumbles, caressing Marc’s hair.

”Yeah, right. We really do.” Marc presses a kiss to his forehead and then moves – but not to lie next to him as expected, no, he’s leaving the bed and when Vale’s eyes jump open, Marc is already in his jeans again.

”Where are you going?”

”To my room?”

Marc sounds confused, almost irritated. And Vale doesn’t understand, but there’s a sudden coldness spreading in his veins, his mind beginning to dread the next parts of their conversation.

”You can sleep here,” Vale says, trying for cheery and inviting.

”No, I can’t.” Marc shakes his head and looks at him as if Vale was insane. “You have a girlfriend. I can’t stay here after that.”

Marc is tying his shoes and Vale feels so very cold now.

”What do you mean? _That?_ ”

”Okay, listen, we had a bit too much, we had a lot of fun, it was nice and now it’s over.” Marc walks to the head of the bed, presses a kiss to his temple and then slides into his T-Shirt. “I promise I won’t tell, I’m sure you won’t tell. And nobody will mention it again.”

”This… was just for fun?”

”Seriously? What did you think it was?” Marc chuckles. “Good joke, Vale, as if this could mean anything. Good night,” Marc leans down for another peck on Vale’s cheek, “it’s been wonderful and now forget about it.”

The younger walks away without turning around, leaving Vale wide awake and suddenly sober. And with tears in his eyes that he’ll never admit were there. With anger clouding his senses now, he empties the remains of the minibar, all his thoughts circling around revenge. _I will make you pay._

_I once had a girl/ or should I say/ she once had me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norwegian Wood, The Beatles


	22. Vortex - Marc/Alex [E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for incest (Duh!) evil!Bambi...

“You look tired.“ Marc looks up from his data sheets and meets Alex gaze, his brother smiling at him. He loves the way his brother looks when he smiles like that, one corner of his mouth raised a bit more than the other, his eyes twinkling. In fact, he loves more things about his brother than he should. “Maybe you should take a break.”

”I can’t, I have to finish this.” He sucks in a sharp breath and tries not to go too rigid, Alex sitting down on the couch now, right next to him, their knees and shoulders touching. Marc’s skin is on fire on any inch they’re in contact. 

”Aw, such a shame.” Alex lips are ghosting over his neck, breath hot against his skin and there’s a trembling all over Marc’s body now. Sometimes, Alex does these things, these almost-flirts, these kind of seductive approaches. It’s never led anywhere serious – yet. And Marc is scared of how much he actually wants it to lead somewhere. “I’d have such great ideas to take your mind off of those.”

”Alex… stop,” Marc is panting already, just because Alex’s hand is running up the inside of his thigh.

”But you want to, right?” Alex is crowding him against the backrest, face only inches from Marc’s and eyes pitch black. It’s a little frightening, seeing his brother like this – but it’s mostly exciting. “You want to touch me and you want to do more, don’t you? I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. I notice the way you size me up, you know? I know you want to fuck me.”

Alex’s voice is low and he’s speaking almost directly into Marc’s ear, the air making his skin tingle. He flinches at the last words and at the same time feels his cock stir, almost jumping up in his shorts. Alex stares at him, then kisses him, almost like an attack. With too much tongue and too much teeth and the taste of blood mixes with the taste of coke and mint. Marc’s brain is on overload, he couldn’t tell up from down or hot from cold while all he feels is Alex, so close, right where he actually wants him. Wanted him for so long and it’s difficult to remember things like rules and lines when Alex’s crotch is pressing against his own. And when Alex pulls away, Marc can’t take his eyes off of these lips, these dark, full lips that are glistening with their mixed saliva and then he nods, more on instinct than anything else, but he nods.

”Yeah,” he says, his voice surprising himself with its hoarseness, “I would.”

”Well,” Alex hisses into his ear, sending another shudder through Marc’s body, “why don’t we make a little deal? You’re such a slut around the paddock, such a seductive little whore all the time, why don’t you go for Vinales for a change? Shouldn’t be a problem for you to go and get him. And then, once you’ve had him – and you’ll take me a picture of course, then I might let you blow me at least.”

Marc shivers, again, his muscles trembling and he feels himself nod in reply already. Sure, it’s happened before. He remembers that Alex started the whole game with Dani. Then it was Aleix. Jorge. Vale. God, Marc has paid a lot for that one. Countless nights he’s spend on his bed, telling himself it needs to stop, reminding himself of the pain he causes and then he sees an image of Alex in front of his head and he’s right back, hand around his cock and the vortex pulling him down.

”Yeah, Maverick is okay. I’ll send you a pic.”

 _I'm damned to feel the way I do_  
_What have I done_  
_To fall so hard for you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What have I done_ , Anna Ternheim


	23. Waiting - Daniel/Daniil [M]

He doesn’t remember when he earned Dany’s trust. He really doesn’t. When they first became teammates, it felt more like some sort of hero worship. Like the boy was walking on eggshells next to him. Dan didn’t like it. He never likes people being uncomfortable around him, after all, he’s easy. Relaxed. And enjoyable and approachable. So it’s weird, having someone, anyone look up to him. Which Dany did, with wide eyes and a shaky voice and talking so stiffly. Always thank you and please and sorry and he never really looked into Dan’s eyes. Which Dan always thought was a real shame, because he would have liked to look into Daniil’s eyes. A lot. But then, maybe it’s better he doesn’t see them too often, they can be dangerous for him. Could make him fall. Maybe already made him fall, but shh, that has to be a secret. At least, it got better over the course of the season. A season that lacked in results too often. That felt so much more difficult than the previous one with Seb, a season that made him miss Jev even more than the last.

But after the summer break, something about his teammate changed and he wasn’t just stiff, he was plain out a ghost and Dan, in his usual good mood, had approached him and, to his own surprise, after not that much prodding and poking, got an answer. The boy’s girlfriend had decided to call it quits over the summer. Dan sighed then, too aware of what those long months of travelling do to relationships. But he also felt an undeniable spark of hope. That little flicker that told him the window of opportunity just opened.

Singapore, the podium… Daniil congratulating him afterwards and Dan taking him to his room. Casually, as a friend. Daniil had been happy that night, cheery. And after some of the warm champagne, even open and somewhat clingy. They’d tried body shots with Tequila then, which the boy – of course – hadn’t done before. Not ever. His tongue… Dan still remembers how his tongue felt on his collar bone, still trembles every time he thinks about it. It’s been the night where he put it all on the line. Or at least, he tried. Went down on the younger, trying that trick Jev taught him, where he’d keep some of the champagne in his mouth when he takes him in, the sparkly feeling supposed to be really great. Dany later told him his girlfriend never swallowed and then passed out on his couch. The next morning, the boy didn’t remember a thing. And maybe that’s been better, too. Even if it stung. Even if it hurt. But this way, at least things didn’t get all awkward between them and Dan is not naïve enough to actually think he’d have a chance at winning over his straight teammate.

For the rest of the last season, they’d been friends then. Working out together, hanging out together. Dan trying to set Dany up with a few girls, sometimes even with success. He got better and better at hiding the wistfulness, the pain, when he saw the younger trot away happily, arm around another slim blonde’s waist. Kept telling himself that at least he made the boy happy. They had good times, especially at the US GP. That dance… Dan still feels a little wishful, a little hopeful. That dance felt as if maybe, just maybe, there could be something. 

But then there was Kati. And Dany liked her right from the start, the girl making him euphoric. Dan watches with a heavy heart and tried his best to be a good friend, even hooked up with a girl from France for a bit so they could have double dates. Double dates that left his girl seriously upset because apparently, he was obvious enough for her to notice something. Though she got it the wrong way around, thought he was going after Dany’s girl. Dan wishes it was that easy. And really, explaining where his obsession, his attraction for Dany come from is something he can’t even do. All he knows is that Dany’s eyes made him fall pretty early on and that he’s been wanting to be close to him ever since. 

He’d loathed and awaited the winter break at the same time, torn between needing a break from the hurt of seeing Dany without getting him and not wanting to be away from the younger at the same time. Things turned out different, with Dany making an effort of calling a lot, telling him a fair bit of how things were going with Kati, Dan glad Dany couldn’t see him glare at the walls during these parts of their conversations. And then, they meet in Austria and Dany comes to his hotel room late at night, positively drunk and rambling and crying, another girl gone and Vodka a better companion. And he ends up in Dan’s arms, sharing sloppy kisses and crying into Dan’s hoodie and eventually, even ends up naked in Dan’s bed, the two of them rutting against each other like teenagers.

But the next morning, when he wakes up naked with a half-dressed Russian, Dany looks at him completely confused, once again not remembering anything but the breakup and the liquor. Dan smiles, even though his heart shatters into pieces. Dan cheers up his younger teammate and keeps his lips shut, knowing better than to make things any more awkward than necessary. He chats and laughs and jokes and then plays wingman to find Dany a girl after the Kitz party. And that’s how he ends up in his room, alone, with a bottle of Tequila that reminds him of Singapore, with dried tears on his cheeks that give away just how deep he has fallen by now. And with the knowledge that a few doors down the hall Dany is banging another blonde model. While he sits in the darkness and empties the liquor, wondering how they even started being friends. At the end of the night, Dan wouldn’t be Dan if he didn’t have a bit of hope left that someday, something would happen and Dany _would_ remember. That someday Dany would realize just how happy Dan wants to make him.

 _As long as I'm living_  
_I'll be waiting_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'll be waiting_ , Lenny Kravitz


	24. Xenolith - Jorge/Alex [G]

”It’s a Xenolith.”

Alex eyes the stone with the light grey patch and rolls the word over his tongue, wondering where Jorge comes up with those things. The quotes. The words. The knowledge.

”It’s beautiful.” He smiles, looking over to Jorge who returns the smile, a hand running through Alex’s hair, sending shivers down his spine. “Like you.”

”Sappy,” Jorge grins and then leans in for a kiss, rock forgotten on the grass next to them. Instead, there’s only Jorge for him now, hands roaming under his shirt, tongue teasing his own and Alex moans, the sounds swallowed by his lover.

They don’t pay attention, forget about the world around them and later they’ll realize with horror just how bad that could have ended, what headlines they could have caused. There and then, with the sun glistening down on the Pyrenees landscape, the sound of birds and a steady breeze, they forgot and only knew each other, getting acquainted more and more with each other’s bodies, reactions, preferences. Like the way Jorge’s breathe would hitch each time when Alex’s fingers ran up his thighs. Or the way the older would gasp when Alex’s teeth sank into the tender skin right above his collarbone. Later, when they’d made it back down, bikes locked away in the garage and both of them safely in the privacy of Marc’s guest room, Jorge had explained the word. How it meant foreign stone, the smaller enclosed, buried, kept – but at what price?

Their relationship dwindled over the season. Summer break, yeah, they could pull that off. But with the races returning… there was no way it could work. And it didn’t help that Alex was struggling while Jorge was slowly but certainly catching up on Vale. Somewhere over the overseas races, they stopped being “we” and “us”. But just like there’d never really been a beginning, everything always developing so naturally between them, there’s never a real cut. They don’t see each other anymore, then the texts stop and then, there’s Nuria. And it hurts, a lot, seeing them happy. Alex cries, he fumes, he screams – in the solitude of his hotel room. Out in the paddock, he tries to endure things as silently as possible. When he can’t avoid Jorge, the older will smile apologetically and that only made it worse.

When the invitation came, he had just started to feel better. So much about that. And now, here he is, a sunny summer day that resembles their bike tour too much, making him nauseous.

”You really want to go?” Marc, in the morning, eyeing him questioningly over their cereal. Of course. Not that he really _wants_ , but not going would be cowardly. Alex isn’t a coward.

His legs tremble on the way inside the church and suddenly, he doesn’t see or hear anything around him. He vaguely notices Marc pulling him into one of the rows and making him sit, but all in all, Alex only has eyes for _him_. For Jorge. In his suit, next to the priest, smiling widely. But – and Alex is almost sure he’s not imagining this – the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Over the pounding of his heart, Alex barely hears the organ and when Nuria walks past them in her beautiful dress, he still only looks at Jorge and there’s that tiny, tiny split-second where their eyes meet and where Alex is absolutely sure that Jorge looks wistful.

He doesn’t follow the talking very well, doesn’t care about anybody inside the stuffy, crowded church, he stares at the surreal scenery, at _his_ Jorge getting married to the wrong person. Alex knows it should be him, only him, there. Not her, never her. Sure, he understands that it’s easier, but they’re not doing easy jobs, they know what fighting means, if any two people have the strength to carry that relationship through the GP circus, it should be him and Jorge and not her and Jorge.

”If anyone objects to this marriage, let them speak now or never.”

As if steered by an unknown force, Alex’s legs push him up, never giving him a chance for a conscious decision and then he’s standing there, blood rushing too loud for him to hear anything and the world still focused entirely on Jorge, who’s staring at him with his jaw dropped and his eyes wide.

”Alex, sit down,” Marc hisses next to him, hand pulling on his arm, but Alex doesn’t really notice.

”I, I have an objection. Jorge, you can’t marry her. You just can’t. I know I never said it when I should have, but I will now. I love you, Jorge Lorenzo. And I think you love me, too.”

He's not sure if he's dreaming or if _this_ is actually happening. Maybe he's gone mad and hearing voices. But he hears it, loud and clear even over the consistent mumbling.

"Yes, yes, I do. I love you, too, Alex Marquez."

And we'll only be making it right  
_'Cause we'll never be wrong_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Total eclipse of the heart_ , Jill Andrews version  
> Song and storyline blatantly stolen from Grey's Anatomy. Sorry, not sorry ♥


	25. Yonder - Dani/Jorge [G]

”Just keep reading to him. We don’t know how much he notices about his surroundings right now, but believe me, he’ll know you’re here with him.”

The nurse disappears as quickly as she entered, checking a drip and readjusting a tube and then he’s back alone with him, only the beeping of medical equipment left and her soft voice still ringing in his head. _He’ll know._

With a sigh, Dani picks the book back up, searching for the last paragraph. His hand traces lines on Jorge’s arm and it’s strange, the younger not reacting. No goosebumps, no shivers. Just cool skin. He bites his bottom lip and turns back to the letters which are blurred now.

His voice is hoarse as he continues, reciting line after line from the Neruda poems that he knows Jorge loves so much, stealing glances at Jorge’s face. He looks peaceful and very young, almost like he usually does when he’s asleep; only difference the slight loss of color of his skin. He should have woken up a few hours ago and the nurses and the surgeon both tried to convince Dani that it’s not rare that it takes longer. That there’s no reason to worry, no reason to be scared. But he’s not stupid, he notices the badly hidden concern in their faces, can tell they’re as clueless as he is, knows it’s not normal and thus it _is_ a reason to worry. _Routine surgery my ass._ And it’s ironic, he thinks with a frown, how apparently flying off a bike hasn’t done as much harm as simply needing to get an appendix removed. With complications and loss of blood – Dani glares at the steadily dripping blood conserve – and with Dani himself without any information, pacing through the waiting area, asking, yelling, crying. Because it should have taken less than an hour – and they didn’t let him see Jorge for six hours. And now, they’re here and without pulling the VIP joker, they wouldn’t have let Dani in here at all. He wishes he could just grab Jorge and shake him and yell at him until he wakes back up. And it’s usually Jorge who wakes him, because Jorge loves to go running at the break of dawn – while Dani prefers curling back up under the sheets. Now though, it’s Jorge who is refusing to wake up and it’s starting to seriously freak Dani out. Not for the first time today, he wonders how his mother ever managed to cope, feels sorry for the many, many times he probably put her through this. With the back of his hand, he wipes a stray tear from his eye. And the reading seems so pointless. Dani glares at the book. Sometimes, he had made fun of Jorge for the younger’s lover of quotes and prose, though secretly, he’s always found it adorable. _I just wish I would have told you._

”Keep reading.” Dani’s head jerks up, finding Jorge still with his eyes closed and for a moment, he fears he just imagined hearing that so familiar voice. “Dani, please.”

”You’re awake.” Dani breaks into a huge grin, tears dwelling up again – though for a different reason. This time, he has seen Jorge’s lips move and knows he’s not fantasizing but actually hearing him, voice softer and weaker than Dani would want it to sound, but unmistakably Jorge.

”So tired, Dani. But I want to listen to you.”

Dani feels Jorge’s arm move under his hands and hurries to take Jorge’s hand, the skin cool in his hold. There’s the slightest squeeze and Dani could cry again.

”I’m so glad you’re back,” he says with a sniff, searching the book for the right point to keep going. “So, where were we…”

 _And I_  
_I love it when you read to me_  
_And you_  
_You can read me anything_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Book Of Love_ , Peter Gabriel


	26. Zen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a "true" drabble as goodbye ♥  
> ...and yeah, I wanted 26 pairings, but in the end, this had to be _them_

”Remember 2013?”

Marc sure does. The warm sand, the sunset, the sound of waves crashing – and his heart, racing in his chest, everything new and exciting.

”Life seemed easier somehow.”

Dani’s head drops to his shoulder, the older lacing their fingers.

”Yeah, life before your war against Italy and before I was going bankrupt. Either way, today is better.” Marc shivers as he feels Dani’s lips on his fingers, kissing _the_ ring.

”I love you,” he says, leaning in to kiss Dani’s neck. They stay there much longer, watching the sunset, worries kept at bay at least for a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Here I Go Again_ ; Whitesnake  
> ...An' I've made up my mind  
> I ain't wasting no more time...


End file.
